


sunlight sunlight sunlight (oh your love is)

by ou73rsc13nc3



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Bisexual Mike Hanlon, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Choking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Stanley Uris, LMAOOOOOO these tags kill me I have too much power here, Multi, Not Beta Read, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, bill blatantly watches them have sex, christmas and Hanukkah bc it’s cute, i forgot ab that, i got so horny toward the end guys, if anyone but me beta read this I’d die, kinda? Idk they finna fuck up they pelvises osrs, pls read trigger warnings for chap 5 bc it’s sad, you can always skip it there’s no shame here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ou73rsc13nc3/pseuds/ou73rsc13nc3
Summary: Bill nods and continues washing silverware. The fork has a burnt piece of macaroni on it. Richie’s doing, no doubt. “Stan is quite eh-eh-emotional about Richie if you haven’t noticed. He’s always so calm and collected, b-but Richie tends to bring out the best and worst in him.”“I think he just has that effect on people,” Eddie replies. Although he’ll admit he agrees with Bill. Stan never gets angry. If he does, it would have to take a significant amount of build up for him to explode with it like he did with Eddie. He rinses and dries two more plates before Bill talks again.“He liked you the mo-moment he saw you. He saw you outside and said, ‘Bill, I’m leaving you for that shorty over there’ and pointed t-to you.” Bill laughs when he looks over and sees Eddie blushing. Leave it to Richie to shout his feelings to the whole world.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111





	1. Sunlight - Hozier

**Author's Note:**

> Why the fuck is this so long? The fuck are you reading it for? It’s cus you’re horny huh. You only here for the fuckin smh. I’m tellin God you bein horny on main >:)
> 
> A few headcanons so you’re not confused!  
> \- Richie is multilingual. He speaks English Spanish and Hebrew  
> \- both Richie and Stan are Jewish bc I can  
> \- Bill had selective mutism due to his stutter
> 
> TW ⚠️ Henry Bowers bitch ass bullied Richie and bc I love him I accidentally made it sad good luck with stopping me
> 
> 🤡 the end note is important pls read it or I’ll be sad or whatever 🤡

Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass.

This is Eddie Kaspbrak’s first thought every time he lays eyes on the boy. Whether he’s just sitting quietly (a rare occasion) or talking (a not so rare occasion), Eddie has the same exact thought:  _ Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass _ .

To be fair, Richie is aware of this. He practically flunked out of his first year of college college because his parents insisted he get a career that gives him six figures. Instead of dropping out, Richie switched to a drama major to become a comedian, a career Eddie thought he’d fuck up as well. Richie isn’t funny and the way he delivers jokes are even less so, but apparently that’s an unpopular opinion. But somehow Richie has made himself go viral through social media with the worst of his jokes. Most of them involve situations that actually happened and something he just blurted out loud and then screamed “OH SHIT, I HAVE TO WRITE THAT DOWN!” Like that one time Bill caught Richie seemingly beating his meat to animal planet (Richie has a vivid imagination he doesn’t need porn to get off, fuck you). Now everytime they pass that channel, they have to hold in their laughter. Eddie still doesn’t think it’s funny.

_ Richie Tozier is a god damn fucking dumbass _ , Eddie thinks as said dumbass climbs onto a table and starts screaming the words of Drunken Love by Beyoncé into Stan’s face. Stan isn’t amused.

Eddie isn’t too close with the rest of them yet. He only knows Richie and Stan through Bill, but Bill is the one that really brought them all together. Ben and Bev come around almost everyday, but they have their own agenda most of the time. That leaves Richie, Bill, and Stan with Eddie tagging along.

Although Eddie has become immedient friends with them, he’s still having trouble finding his place. He can handle them, but Eddie is a bit (a lot) on edge most of the time and filled with some (an unnecessary amount of) anxieties about germs and diseases. He wouldn’t (he would) call himself a hypochondriac, but he definitely can’t stand the thought of germs touching him. For some reason they ease these kinds of thoughts. They make Eddie want to go out of his comfort zone and that’s a lot better than what his mother ever wanted for him.

Especially Richie. Big, dumb, unfunny, loud, rude, dirty, pine smelling Richie.

“Drunken love,” Richie sings from the table, red solo cup dangling between his fingers. He points to Stan and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s waiting for him to respond.

Stan gives Richie a bored look, but sighs and says, “We be all night.”

To which Richie vocalizes, “WHOA. WHOA,” at the top of his lungs. Bill is sitting on the couch and laughing so hard he’s fallen onto his side. “WE BE ALL NIGHT.”

For someone so drunk, it’s miraculous how well Richie is staying so well balanced on the coffee table. The boots he’s wearing are inhumanly clunky, yet he’s never been more upright. Eddie is just grateful they have a house and not a dorm anymore. God knows if his grades don’t don’t get him kicked out of school, the neighbors complaining about how  _ loud _ Richie is will.

“Okay, Rich, time to get down,” Stan says over his friend’s hollering. Stan, Eddie realizes, is trying to hold back his laughter. A sober Stanley needs special circumstances to make him laugh. An intoxicated Stan has the humor of a thirteen year old.

Stan reaches his hand out to help his friend down. Richie stops singing and immediately takes it in his own, intertwining their fingers. Stan looks at him with some  _ look _ Eddie can’t pinpoint. He’s smiling at him really softly, his eyes sparkling with something, but it’s glazed because of the booze.

Richie steps down with a loud thump and pulls Stan into a crushing hug. Even from the other side of the room Eddie can hear the sloppy wet kiss Richie plants on the side of the other’s cheek. He scrunches his nose, but laughs regardless.

Eddie feels a pang of jealousy. Whether it’s of Stan or of Richie he can’t tell. He’s not sure why and he’s a little too tipsy to figure it out.

+

Bill and Stan went to bed around the same time and Richie finally sat down and went quiet. Eddie was still sitting in the loveseat across from him. He hadn’t really expected to have fun, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t have  _ fun _ , but he sat silently in the chair amused, laughing lightly. Stan said Eddie was allowed to stay since it was so late at night, but he’d have to take the couch.

“I wanna go swimming,” Richie announces. He’s already up and walking toward the patio before Eddie could understand what he was saying.

But again, Eddie is drunk and he just watches with a confused smile as Richie opens the patio door and strips to his underwear. He stands there for a moment, and Eddie wonders if he’s going to jump in at all. He looks like a sea star when he finally does, causing a glorious splash of water so large it almost touches the patio doors.

Eddie watches Richie swims laps rather gracefully. His glasses are missing, but Eddie won’t tell him that.

He knows Stan has a pretty nice job studying birds and makes some money on the side with his calligraphy business. Bill works as a tour guide at one of the most popular art museums in New York and Richie works at a club with a couple hundred dollars coming in every week for gigs he’s taken. Still, Eddie isn’t sure how they can afford a place like this along with a pool that large…

Eddie climbs from the chair and walks out to the pool. He stands in a dry spot far, far away from the dirty, bacteria ridden, chemical filled water. If he leaned down a bit he’d be able to see Richie’s glasses on the ground.

Richie stops flailing around like a madman, picks them up and plasters the glasses to his face. He rubs the water off them, but that only makes it worse. His hair is sticking to his skull. It doesn’t stop the ends from curling up and dripping water on his skin, dipping into his collarbone, and slipping down his chest to quietly rest in ripple of his body. Eddie is staring. He’s prone to be just a bit (maybe a lot) more bold when he’s drunk. He snaps his eyes back up to his face when he opens his mouth.

“Oh, hey, Eddie Spaghetti, didn’t see you there.” He did see him there. “Wanna hop in?”

Eddie’s face practically contorts into disgust by the  _ thought _ of dipping his toe into that disgusting mess of stagnant waters, but he controls it and settles for curling his lip slightly. “Don’t call me that. It’s just Eddie. No spaghetti. And no way. Do you even  _ know  _ how much bacteria is in a public pool—”

“This is private property,” he snorts.

“You have no idea what’s even in a public pool, Richie. Do you have any idea what’s in a  _ public fucking pool _ ? Kids piss and shit in that stuff and God knows that kids are just riddled with infections and shit, dude. And then there’s the  _ bugs _ , the  _ dead  _ bugs to be more specific. And they never even clean pools— don’t you fucking dare.”

Eddie backs away until his back hits the wall and Richie has an entire mouthful of pool water with a tiny smile on his face and he’s getting closer to the edge and Eddie is babbling to get him to spit that shit out right  _ now _ .

“I swear to god, Rich, I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll do it. I’ll make it look like an accident, I swear I will. Don’t you fucking dare, you asshole. You’re a bastard, Richie, a rat bastard!”

Richie spits the water out unceremoniously in Eddie’s direction while he has a laugh and now Eddie’s shoes are wet. Eddie makes a gagging sound and takes them off, socks and all, but he realizes he’s not really mad. In fact he’s pretty sure he felt… excited? Maybe the pool water isn’t as bad as his mother would tell him everytime he voiced he wanted to go swimming with the other kids. Eddie suddenly makes a very important decision and it’s out of his mouth before his drunken brain can stop it.

“I don’t know how to swim.”

Richie looks at him like he’s saying,  _ how the hell do you not know how to swim _ ? He’s come all the way to the edge and has his arms on the concrete to hold himself up. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then closes it.

_ Stupid _ , Eddie thinks.  _ Being drunk makes me stupid _ .

But then Richie is looking up at him with this goofy crooked smile and if Eddie’s heart rate speeds up he pretends not to notice.

“Are you gonna strip to your undies like a big boy, or are you gonna get in with all your clothes on?” He says it while he’s still smiling and Eddie… Eddie can’t bring himself to be genuinely irritated at him.

He slowly unpeels himself from the wall and starts taking off his shirt, but stops short. Richie raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t watch me, that’s weird.”

Richie rolls his eyes, but backed away and turned around. Eddie watches him suspiciously as he carefully strips down to his underwear. The muscles in his back are shifting and contracting as Richie moves his arms along the surface of the water and Eddie thinks no one’s back has any business looking that sexy.

Eddie is… hesitant. He’s standing on the edge, toes curling around the concrete. He sits down and slowly lowers his legs into the water. The water is warm but it’s to be expected since it's summer. Eddie hasn’t contracted chlamydia or E. Coli from just putting his legs in so he’s calling this a win right now.

Richie turns back around and smiles so brightly Eddie has to squint a little.

“I don’t— I’m— Can you…” Jesus, is Eddie having a fucking stroke? He takes a breath and reaches out his hands. Richie understands what he’s trying to say and wades close enough for Eddie to sink his fingers into the meat of his shoulders. He pushes off and now he’s standing in four feet of water.

Eddie expected to panic, expected to be scared, expected his mother to show up any moment and snatch him up by his hair and scream, “You’re sick, Eddie Bear! You can’t do that, you’re too fragile! You could get sick! Sick, do you understand? You could die. Do you want to  _ die _ , Edward? Huh, boy? Do you?”

What Eddie didn’t expect is to be standing this close to Richie, staring him in the eye. He’s so close he could see the water reflect off his glasses and the careful brown of his eyes.

This definitely isn’t the first time this has happened between them. Sometimes they’d study in groups and Eddie would feel Richie stare at him so violently that he’s sure there’s dents in his head from it. Other times Eddie would catch Bill trailing a foot up Stan’s thigh, but when he looks at Bill, he’s staring right at Richie. It’s a funny dynamic Eddie picked up just a month after he started hanging out with them.

But right now Eddie can’t focus on that. What he does focus on is in the shape of a lanky, curly haired, four eyed drama major who’s trying (and failing) to be a comedian. He focuses on how he feels himself being led to the middle of the pool, but not to the deep end. Eddie’s never felt so calm a day in his life, and that in itself is terrifying for him.

Richie is surprisingly quiet. For someone constantly in movement, he’s very still. And Richie can’t stand silence. He once said it physically pains him to know there’s silence sometimes.

Then he opens his mouth and all attraction Eddie had towards him goes down the toilet.

“You know, when your mom and I—”

“What the hell, Rich!” He pushes away as the other doubles over in laughter. Eddie thinks he looks kind of stupid like that: he’s six feet tall in four feet of water, his hair sticking up and down in odd places, his glasses being constantly adjusted because they keep slipping. Eddie is only five feet and a few inches (and  _ yes _ that is the average height for males, suck a cock). He’s never found the jokes about his mom funny, but he doesn’t find them  _ unfunny  _ either. He snorts quietly.

“Your mother and I are very—  _ wheeze _ — very happy together, Eds.” Eddie shakes his head, trying to hide his smile. He won’t laugh. He won’t laugh. He won’t.

“What are you, twelve?”

“Yeah, on a sexy scale of one to ten,” he says immediately. People must ask him that question a lot.

Richie is coming toward him again like he’s actually done joking, but they both know he’s not. He gets Eddie by the hips and starts to steer them to deeper water.

“If you drown me, I’ll kill you,” he says. Oddly enough, he can hear himself joking. Eddie thinks Richie just has that effect on people. He can stress them out to the point of their hair falling out, yet he can get people so comfortable and relaxed it’s like they’ve known him their entire life.

“You’re too cute to drown, Eds.”

Eddie feels his face turn red and scoffs. Eddie Kaspbrak is not _ cute _ , okay. He is  _ handsome _ and  _ manly _ and full of  _ rage _ . One hundred percent not cute. That has to be an unpopular opinion going around.

“Glad to know my looks— shit, Richie my feet aren’t touching the fucking ground!” Eddie scrambles into the other’s arms and gives a deadly glare at him when he starts to laugh. “That’s not fucking  _ funny _ ! You’re such an asshole, seriously. You could have killed me.”

Richie, who now has Eddie’s legs hooked around his waist and both of them are pretending not to notice, just smiles and oh, what a smile it is. His teeth are pearly and straight and that’s somehow made him even more attractive (what can Eddie say? He’s a slut for hygiene).

Eddie’s hands have wrapped themselves around Richie’s neck. He moves them to his shoulders, but the way Richie is staring at him makes him reconsider. He moves them to cup his face instead. They’re still drunk, at least Eddie still thinks he’s drunk. Only a drunk Eddie would even think of having skin on skin contact with someone while they’re in a pool. Richie on the other hand, looks more sober than Eddie, but still drunk nonetheless.

Richie’s eyes keep flicking between his eyes and his lips and Eddie leans down, but stops short. Their noses bump against each other and Eddie can almost feel how much Richie wants to do this, to kiss him. It kind of thrills Eddie to know he has that kind of power over someone.

They stand like that for a moment in the middle of the pool where only they exist. Like Richie wasn’t singing his ass off almost an hour ago and Eddie definitely wasn’t laughing.

Richie’s glasses are the only reason Eddie knows he’s kissed him. It’s barely a brush of the lips, but then Richie is parting his own and Eddie just feels a dam burst inside him. He pulls himself closer, higher, and claims the other’s mouth like it has all the answers to his future. Richie makes a noise in the back of his throat that has Eddie pulling back and tugging his lip with him.

They don’t say anything for a moment and Eddie knows Richie can’t stand silence. But Eddie doesn’t give him a chance and mashes their faces together. Richie moves to press Eddie into the pool wall and his hands are all over him. He squeezes his thighs and that makes him gasp. Richie trails his hands up his ass and hips and settles on gently cupping his neck.

Kissing Richie feels like an addiction in the best way possible. He’s got his hands cupping Eddie’s face now, tilting his head the way he wants him to and kisses him deep and sensual. His tongue glides along the ridge of his mouth and flicks at his lips when he pulls back. He’ll groan low in his chest when Eddie sucks on his tongue and dives back in to kiss him deeper, harder. His fingers are tangled in his hair and whenever he tugs it Richie makes his sound that he has officially classified as pornographic. Eddie can’t breathe and he’s making these quiet wheezing noises that get drowned out by his breathy moans. His chest feels like it’s boiling and he’s vibrating in his skin so much he can feel his thighs quake. He’s never been more turned on a day in his life.

They’re both breathing hard when they finally break apart. Their fingers are getting pruney and Eddie honestly wants to put clothes back on. Maybe the layers of clothes will stop him from attempting to get fucked in a pool.

Getting dressed is a lot less awkward than he thought it would be. Richie is as graceless as ever when he throws his shirt over his head and gets his arms stuck. Or just seconds later when he almost falls back into the pool trying to get his pants on. He settles for just chucking them to the ground and getting them later.

Eddie watches this silently. And he somehow has the same thought:  _ Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass _ .

+

The only reason Eddie ends up sleeping at his own dorm is because their couch is uncomfortable. It’s definitely  _ not _ because the thought of seeing Richie with bed head in ill fitted pajama pants turns him on. It’s not that at all.

He sleeps like the dead and his roommate doesn’t wake him up.

Eddie’s just glad he doesn’t have any classes on Saturday, definitely a smart move on his part. He wakes up, downs some ibuprofen and water and gets in the shower.

He thinks of Richie, of his hands, his glasses, his voice. He thinks about Richie like that a lot. He thinks about Stan and Bill that way, too. 

Eddie thinks Stan dresses with a quiet aura around him. Everything the man does is elegant and purposeful. Even his hair’s curls are neat and smooth. Eddie’s has his fair share of dirty thoughts about Richie, but every now and again the thought of Stan’s hands on his body and Bill’s tongue in his mouth has crossed his mind. It’s been crossing his mind more and more lately.

He takes his daily jog around campus. It’s ten in the morning and people are getting started with their own lives, Eddie included. He listens to music as he runs, but he doesn’t really pay attention to the playlist. He repeats to himself he’s running to stay healthy because  _ he _ wants to not because his  _ mother  _ wants him to. His therapist says repeating this will help the years of damage Sonia Kaspbrak has caused her son. It’s a slow process, but Eddie knows it’s working.

Richie is over six feet tall. He’s as tall as he is lanky and that’s saying a lot. He moves like he’s being pulled and pushed in every direction and you can always hear him before you see him. His hair was a curly mess on top of his head and his eyes bulge a little behind his glasses. Richie, to be frank, looks like a wild animal. So whatever made him think running straight into Eddie full force was a good idea will never make any sense.

Eddie doesn’t see him coming until he’s on him and can’t even prepare himself for the giant mass of  _ Richie _ hitting him. His heart, practically jumping out of its skin, thumps violently against his chest and his headphones go sprawling to the ground. The song playing wasn’t important to him anymore.

Richie is laughing so hard his glasses are gradually making their way to the tip of his nose. Eddie is stunned by how pretty he looks. Richie is wearing his usual: a dark leather jacket and a faded rock shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans (that he wore loose enough to hide a boner, but tight enough to still get one) and thick boots. He’s wearing two rings on his right hand, each one is silver with a complicated pattern. They wink at Eddie in the sunlight. If he looked closer he’d see the chipped black nail polish (thanks to Beverly). 

Eddie, after about ten seconds, is overcome with undeniable anger.

“What the  _ fuck, _ Richie!” Richie is still laughing to the sky and people are starting to look. Eddie hurries to pick his headphones off the ground and makes a mental note to never put them in his ears until he’s cleaned them for at least an hour or more. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I think if you shit,” he says between gasps of laughter. “I’d die of laughter. Really, really die.”

“I hope you do,” Eddie retorts without venom.

Richie’s finally calms himself down after what seems like forever. If Eddie’s line of focus shifted to the left he’d be able to see Bill and Stan in the distance watching them. But Richie doesn’t know how to hold Eddie’s gaze for the life of him.

Richie just smiles at him until his eyes flick around almost nervously and Eddie waits for him to say something. He rolls his eyes.

“Richie—“

“Go on a date with me,” he rushes out. His body is in motion, arms swinging back and forth, feet pushing and pulling him so it looks like he’s a standing rocking chair. Eddie stares at him incredulously. A  _ date _ ? Eddie opens his mouth, realizes nothing will be coming out any time soon, and promptly closes it. He thinks back to just the night before. The heat of Richie’s body close to his, his lips when they pressed into his skin was exhilarating. Eddie feels himself getting a little excited just thinking about it.

Richie is rocking something fierce now and Eddie is scared he’s going to fall flat on his face. He has to answer him at some point, right? He can’t just let him look big and stupid in the middle of the campus.

They make eye contact and Eddie watches Richie’s glasses fall down his nose and his face turn red. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the taller man be embarrassed.

He smiles and opens his mouth when Richie quickly adds, “You can say no, or whatever.”

“Shut up, dipshit,” Eddie says. He’s feeling giddy now and lets out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Richie looks like he might explode from happiness and his brain must be shutting down because he can only bring himself to say one word. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

If happiness is a disease then Eddie is so glad he caught it. He doesn’t think he’s ever smiled this big for this much time. Except that one time his mother dragged him to church to pray away his dirty thoughts of boys and he just sat there smiling like the devil himself possessed him.

“What time,” Eddie asks, his voice feeling light and calm. He wonders if Bill and Stan feel this same emotion when Richie talks to them. He’s seen Richie go on and on about his theatre class, waving his arms and pushing his glasses back on his face periodically. Richie is so passionate about it and could go on about it for  _ hours  _ if you let him, but he’s never seen Bill or Stan look even the slightest bit disinterested. (What Eddie doesn’t know is that Richie does this at home as well and Stan will watch him with devotion and so much  _ love _ that Richie will stop talking and just stare right back. Or Bill will tuck his wild hair back from his face and kiss Richie’s forehead gently. It makes Richie quiet for hours sometimes, but it’s the good quiet. It’s the quiet where Richie isn’t in movement, but he continues to talk. It’s the healthy quiet.)

And Richie—

Beams. Like, he actually beams. He’s brighter than the sun like this, smiling as his hair floats around him like a halo. His eyes twinkle and shine and Eddie is sure he might cry if they keep staring at each other.

“Seven, okay,” he asks and she’s still smiling.

Eddie nods shallowly. If he says something he’s sure nonsense will come out. Richie stares at him a bit longer then jerkily turns on his heels and walks away. As he gets farther, he can see Bill and Stan waiting for him.

Eddie watches as Bill and Stan wrap an arm around Richie’s waist. Bill entangles his fingers with Stan’s at the middle of Richie’s back. Richie has an arm draped over each of their shoulders and all Eddie can think in that moment is…

_ What. The. Actual. Fuck _ . 

+

Eddie spends the rest of his day in a haze of confusion. He had kissed Richie. Richie had kissed him. They had made out in the pool of his house that he shares with two other people. Two people who look to be a lot more than roommates.

Meaning Richie has more than likely kissed Bill, Bill has kissed Stan, and Stan has kissed Richie. Which  _ technically  _ means Eddie has kissed Stan. He’s not entirely opposed to the idea. It’s just that Eddie wishes he was let in on the joke, you know? He doesn’t like being left in the dark, unable to understand what people are thinking or doing. It makes him incredibly anxious.

It’s six in the afternoon and Eddie standing in front of his closet (or the closest thing to a closet when you live in a dorm) searching for something to wear tonight. Eddie’s mother had packed his clothes for college and all he owned were baggy jeans and plaid shirts (she’d bought them herself). The moment she had left the house for more bingo night that Friday, Eddie took a trash bag and dumped every piece of clothing she’d bought him into it and threw it in Derry’s junkyard. He ripped up his floorboards under his bed and stuffed his suitcase to the brim with plain black shirts, nicely fitted jeans, and three pairs of shoes. He’d applied to three schools, one in Maine and two out of state. Lying to Sonia Kaspbrak became a pastime to Eddie and he had no problem telling her he’d be attending some random college close to home. The upcoming Monday night his mother went to book club and Eddie drove his ass to New York without a single word to her. She’d called, she’d threaten to report him missing, but Eddie didn’t give in. He changed his number and two years have gone by and she hasn’t been around since.

Eddie is hit with a wave of happiness at this revelation. He gets to go on a date with the boy he’s been not-so-secretly crushing on and Sonia’s lung crushing grip on him has finally loosened. Eddie couldn’t be more content right now.

He grabs a white shirt with an AC/DC logo slapped onto it and a pair of light jeans. He tucks the shirt in a little and slips on a pair of scuffed up shoes. Eddie checks himself out in the mirror, but it still feels like something is missing. He rummages his closet for something to really bring the outfit together and finds what he’s looking for.

A plain old leather jacket. Eddie’s father had gotten this for him long before he’d kicked the can and Sonia did everything in her power to hide it from him. Eddie had found it while cleaning the garage. It was hidden in a box shoved into a dark corner of the room, only seen if you’d walk close enough. Eddie flapped it out, tried it on (too big), and felt along its seams and stitching. There was a little note folded into the jacket pocket that had faded over the years.

_ For Eddie, my little spitfire _ , is all it said. Eddie teared up at this, but didn’t cry. He’d fear his mother would hear him sniffle even if she was half an hour away shooting the shit with ladies in town. Eddie had taken the jacket back to his room and shoved the clothing into the floorboards with the rest of his forbidden fruits.

He checked himself out in the mirror again and nodded. There wasn’t much he could do with his hair. Without all the slick gel and constant need to make sure it looked right, Eddie had let it grow wild. It was like someone put a towel on his head and rubbed it all over. It’d tickle his ears and the back of his neck and cover his eyes whenever he looked down, but he felt comfortable with it this way. It wasn’t bone straight like Bill’s, but it wasn’t spring curly like Stan’s.

Eddie waits but not for long. Richie texts him he’s waiting outside (because Eddie is a grown ass man he doesn’t need his date to come to the door) and Eddie looks out the window.

From far away, Richie’s features are too difficult to really make out, but Eddie knows the other is smiling or laughing at something on his phone. He’s leaning against his piece of shit car that sometimes takes three turns to start up in the winter and there’s a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Eddie just so happens to catch him putting it to his lips and taking a drag. As disgusting it is that Richie smokes, Eddie can’t help but think he looks good. Natural.

He hurries to meet him and the smile Richie directs at his phone is almost the same exact face he has when he looks up to greet Eddie. The only thing that changes is the way his eyes swirl with something Eddie can’t pinpoint, but it feels familiar. He thinks back to days ago and Eddie realizes the look in Richie’s eyes is lust. His face heats up and his brain is scrambling to think of something smart and coherent to say. 

Richie just laughs and Eddie hates how much he loves it when he laughs. That’s all Richie ever does, but it doesn’t stop Eddie from malfunctioning.

“Ready, Eddie Spaghetti,” he asks and then laughs again.

Eddie, who always,  _ always _ , has to know what the hell Richie is talking about says, “What’s so funny?”

“It rhymed!”

And wow. Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass.

+

People always want their first dates to be this big special thing. Have their knight in shining armor (whomever that may be) ringing their doorbell and they’re dressed from head to toe in the best clothing they can afford. They’ll have a bouquet of flowers bigger than their fucking face, hair slicked and sparkling smile too bright to look them in the eye.

Eddie has always thought that was bullshit. First dates are bullshit and everyone who makes them into a big shebang are full of bullshit, too (like the asthma inhaler his mom gave him).

Richie takes him to dinner, but not to any place fancy enough to swallow your wallet and cheap enough for it to at least take a bite. Richie is known for spending money on other people more than himself and it shows when he lets Eddie order the food.

“I haven’t had everything at this place yet, so surprise me, Mr Spaghet.”

Eddie gives him the finger at the nickname, but he’s staring at the menu and  _ yes, they have burgers _ . He orders himself with one with everything on it, ignoring that tiny voice in the back of his head telling him no, no, no, Eddie Bear, you’re  _ allergic _ to that stuff.

Richie had ordered their drinks. A beer for Richie and water for Eddie. While Eddie makes an attempt at spontaneity, the other watches him closely, sipping on his beer with unsettling silence.

“You’re quiet,” he says, glancing up at him through his lashes. He hears Richie suck in a breath of air.

“You’re so cute,” he says, ignoring Eddie’s comment. Eddie’s head snaps up and he thinks his eyes roll around in his head when he looks at the other. But Richie looks the most serious he’s ever looked in his entire life. And Eddie doesn’t know what to do. Richie has a brow quirked up and a smile inching onto his face.

“Oh, um… thanks?” Oh, Eddie, you dumb bitch. He has never been able to take a compliment. It always makes him flush and stutter. Richie must like it when he does this because he continues to do it until the waitress takes their order.

They converse easily enough, arguing and debating about movies and shows and anything they get on the topic of. Eddie swears Richie has no taste if he thinks Dirty Dancing and Footloose are even on the same level of legendary. Richie thinks it’s funny how Eddie’s voice gets louder the more passionate he gets. Even when the waitress comes and they give a passive thank you, Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off Richie.

“I just wish you’d admit you’re wrong,” Eddie says.

“Oh,  _ I’m  _ wrong for thinking the original Sonic game is better than any game ever made?”

“The controls on the original Sonic games were _ garbage _ , Rich. Do you even understand how difficult it was to make Sonic’s blue ass move from left to right? That motherfucker slid all over the place like he was in a slip ‘n’ slide, dude.” Richie laughs loudly at this and Eddie starts laughing a little. “He looked so fuckin’ stupid, Richie. Like I hated that piece of shit game.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But I think we can both agree Super Mario Bros controls were bad.”

“No,” Eddie says seriously. “That shit made me foam at the mouth. That’s a different level of anger. Fucking pirhana plants can suck my dick, dude.”

Richie throws his head back and laughs even harder, a wheeze knocking from his chest as Eddie chuckles lightly.

They hop from topic to topic for almost an hour, their food in to-go boxes. They aren’t ready to leave yet and Richie had been nursing his only beer the entire time so he isn’t shitfaced. Eddie sees his nails are painted a shiny purple tonight and they glimmer when they hit the lights just right. Eddie thinks it’s very sexy for some reason.

They get kicked out the diner after Eddie screams at Richie for disagreeing with him about if Waluigi has a big dick. Richie is only riling Eddie up and it works in terrible ways. There’s no reason for Eddie to yell, but Richie brings out so many emotions in him at once that it’s all he can do.

They walk along the sidewalk towards the car chattering about this and that. Eddie talks mostly, which he finds weird, but when he looks over to check if Richie is still listening, he finds himself caught in the most intense staring contest of his life. Eddie finds himself losing every time.

“I liked you the moment I met you, Eddit Spaghettit,” he says suddenly. It makes Eddie trip over his own feet and he almost eats concrete. Richie laughs, but then his face turns tender. Eddie is staring at him in disbelief because no one ever like-likes Eddie Kaspbrak. His sense of fashion is just now catching up to his peers, he’s overexcitable when he’s passionate and no matter what emotion he’s feeling it always comes out as  _ angry _ . He’s below average height for a boy, he’s too practical and yet has the most creative mind for ways you can obtain a disease, and he needs to go to a therapist because if someone doesn’t tell him what to do or what to think his entire body will shut down.

He’s still staring at Richie, the shameless, bold, charismatic guy he’s kissed. Richie stares back and waits, but Eddie really doesn’t know what to fucking say.

They’re standing by the car when he speaks again. “I really did,” Richie continues. “I thought you were the cutest thing in the world. I like how you complain about everything being dirty, but you’ll do something anyway because you’re trying to get better. I like that you get passionate about the stupidest shit, like video games and coffee beans.” Richie turns to him fully and Eddie is trapped by those eyes filled with so many simple emotions. He tenses up at his gaze, and Richie looks so serious that Eddie is scared. “I like your eyes and how they have to process everything around you, and I like how your hair is just a bird’s nest. And I  _ really _ fucking like the way you laugh. You’re so high strung, and you try so hard to relax, but I know that’s hard for you. And… fuck, man. I like you a whole awful lot, Eddie Kaspbrak. I really do.”

Eddie could cry. Richie has been serious about plenty of things, but it’s such a rare occasion that it sends everyone reeling when he stops smiling. Richie must have been thinking about this a lot and for a long time because his eyes look so sure and his voice was so determined to say it. Eddie opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. He froze up and he’s sure Richie is trying his damnedest to not make a joke about his mom right now.

When he finally finds his voice, it’s after they’ve been staring at each other for thirty entire seconds.

“Richie—”

“Can I kiss you?”

_ Yes _ . “Yes.”

They meet each other halfway, Richie’s big hands resting on Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s hands trail carefully from his navel to his chest and rests them there momentarily. He can feel how solid Richie really is, not just noodle arms and legs. He’s quite meaty, but not really fat. Eddie moves his hands to the other’s shoulders, then rests them on the back of his neck where his fingers play with the soft hair.

Eddie has never been on a date where he's had fun. Dates with Myra were dull and she didn’t have the same interests as him. He remembers her telling him to grow up and stop reading comic books once, and it had made his chest ache all day.

Not this, though. This is freedom, a breath of fresh air, a sunny day after an unbearable storm.

Eddie gets on the balls of his toes and softly presses his lips to Richie’s. Richie responds with the same softness. He pulls Eddie closer until they’re flush against each other and he slots his thigh between Eddie’s leg.

Richie tongue flicks his bottom lip for permission and kisses him deeply. He grinds his hips forward and the friction makes Eddie dizzy. Eddie groans in the back of his throat, pressing himself close enough that Richie has to take a step back. They stumble a bit, but it doesn’t stop them from making out in front of a closed bakery.

The sounds they make between them are obscene. There’s a push and pull to Richie and Eddie; the sound of Richie sighing into his lips has Eddie arching and whining for more.

They’re in public, not even enough brain power to make them move into an alley, or the car to give them some kind of privacy, but that spurs Eddie on. He’s grinding softly and shamelessly into Richie’s thigh. Eddie gets the sudden thought of sucking his dick, those big thighs shaking and trembling against his cheeks as he swallows Richie down. He bites Richie’s lip at the thought and Richie makes this noise between a moan and low groan.

His lips feel bitten and rubbery when they finally realize oxygen is needed to breathe and reluctantly pull away. Richie smells vaguely of cigarettes and Eddie thinks if he blew a cloud of smoke in his face he wouldn’t even be angry.

“Jesus.” Richie lets his eyes flick around Eddie’s face as he catalogs his features. His face is flush, but from the street lights, Richie could barely tell. His breathing is labored and he keeps licking his lips like he wants to taste Richie on his tongue again.

“Jesus, Jesus,  _ Jesus, _ ” he says again, pulling Eddie close he can rest his head on his shoulder. Eddie is very confused, but he waits until Richie has calmed down to say anything. They switch positions so Eddie’s up against the car and Richie braces his hands on the edge between the roof and the top of the car door. 

“Um, Richie…”

“Gimme a sec, I’m trying to stop thinking about fucking you against my car.”

Oh, he shouldn’t have said that. 

There’s no one on this street as far as Eddie could tell and he’s still hard from grinding on Richie’s thigh like some hormonal teenager. He grabs Richie by the hips and presses his hips forward. Richie turns his head to face Eddie’s profile, his cheek resting on his shoulder and his forearms bracing themselves on the window. A puff of air hits Eddie’s cheek.

It starts off slow and tentative, Eddie keeping an eye out for people who may be walking by, but it’s quiet and peaceful. Richie exhales sharply and rolls his hips harder. Eddie moans at that, gripping his hips tighter.

Richie presses his thigh up higher, adding more pressure, more friction, making Eddie’s hips bumping into his roughly. A lick of arousal courses through his stomach and down to his groin. He grinds down harder and thinks for a moment he could come in like this, grinding and groping Richie like he’s lost his damn mind in front of his dorm housing and that poor bakery. He doesn’t want to do that, though, and apparently Richie doesn’t want to either.

He removes his knee from between Eddie’s thighs and backs away so there’s enough breathing space for them both. Eddie leaned against the car, his skin prickly with goosebumps, his dick hard in his jeans. If Richie can get him this wrecked from just kissing him he doesn’t know what he’ll be like if he fucks him.

+

Richie spends the next two days thinking about Eddie, which isn’t really new. He spends most of his time these days thinking about four things, really; Eddie, Bill, Stan, and things that make him laugh. 

When he’d gotten back from his date he was so keyed and horny he had to wake up Stan to get him to settle down. It ended with Stan fucking himself back on Richie’s cock for twenty minutes.

It’s been two days and if Richie’s mind isn’t occupied by the boys who keep him happiest, he’s thinking about the career that makes him happiest.

Richie has been getting comedy gigs left and right lately. Underground comedy shows have been great, and he loves the exposure, but recently bigger places have their claws in him. He’s not famous by any means, but Richie likes knowing he’ll have enough money to spend on rent and his boys without stretching his dollars too much. He’s been incredibly busy, and that’s great, but it’s been a bit of a strain on his relationships. Bill is starting to sell his art and short novels more (one of the youngest people to win a literary award), Stan is getting paid to work with injured birds and other animals at the pet store he works at and his calligraphy business has been booming lately, so now he sells stickers, pins, and other cute little trinkets he’d let Richie pick out for his followers.

They’re very busy boys and it was kind of a spontaneous decision to ask out Eddie right then and there, but Richie was only going to be free for a few days and Bill insisted Eddie to get closer to them and Stan wanted Richie closer to himself. The only reason Stan agreed is because he liked Eddie, too.

They’re on the couch in their living room watching some show on Netflix. It’s dumb and Richie isn’t really paying attention to it.

Bill is on the left side of the couch and Stan is in the middle. Richie is laying across their laps, his head resting on Bill’s thighs and his own thighs resting on Stan’s. Their classes ended early today so they’re just relaxing together, a rarity all three of them silently agreed to bask in today.

Bill is carding his hand through Richie’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly and playfully. Richie has soft hair, contrary to popular beliefs. The strands are soft and thin by themselves, but if you grabbed a handful they’d be thick and strong together.

Stan is stroking a hand along Richie’s thigh, buzzing and thrumming with energy under his skin. Although this energy can’t be seen or felt, Richie somehow knows it’s there. He shifts his hips, thighs flexing with muscle of the movement. He doesn’t miss the way Stan’s eyes flick down and squeeze a little tighter.

Stan strokes his thighs and gets dangerously close to his crotch when he twists his wrist, gliding his pretty nimble fingers through the heat between Richie’s legs and back up to his hip.  _ Oh, Stanley that’s a very dangerous game you’re playing _ . And more than anything, Stan knows he’ll lose.

Stan does the motion again, gripping firm, stroking lightly and getting too close to Richie’s now awakening cock. He spreads his legs to get him to reach further and Bill notices. Of course he notices.

Bill strokes his hair again. It looks like he’s going to do it again, but he moves his hand to Richie’s face instead, cupping his cheek nearest to the T.V. Richie turns his head to kiss lightly kiss his palm, never breaking eye contact with the man above him. He doesn’t miss the way Bill’s breath hitches.

He thinks Bill is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. His hair is a mix of red and orange, but if it hits the sunlight just right you really can’t tell. It’s long on one side, short on the other, and soft to the touch. Richie has always loved cupping the back of Bill’s neck to kiss him so he can play with the hair on the back of his head.

Bill moves his hand so his thumb can bump Richie’s bottom lip. Richie licks it into his mouth and firmly sucks it once before releasing it. Bill moves his hand to the top of Richie’s head and bends down to kiss him softly.

The angle is off and perpendicular, but they make it work anyway. Richie feels his legs being moved and settled onto the couch again and Stan takes a very familiar seat on his lap, straddling his hips.

Bill sits up, turns to Stan, and gestures for him to come to him with his finger. Stan scoots closer to him, his knees knocking into Richie’s ribs. Stan’s not too heavy, so Richie doesn’t complain. Plus, he likes it when Stan is this close. It gives him a better angle to grope him.

He grabs his hips and watches with utter amazement as Bill takes apart Stan’s entire mouth with his tongue. Bill doesn’t hold back, kissing his mouth sweetly, almost sickly. Stan melts at this, sighing happily into Bill’s mouth. He pulls away and dragged his bottom lip with him. Stan, like the rest of him, has very pretty features. Not feminine, but delicate and round. Although this somewhat matches his personality, he’s a different person when he’s horny.

Stan looks down at Richie and decides to kiss him instead. He pushes himself back so their hips line up and kisses Richie full and deep. There’s soft laughter above them, Bill moving to get up, and then there’s Richie and Stan sprawled on the couch, tongues and bodies sliding together.

If Richie’s dick was stirring, it was awake as hell now. Stan straddles one thigh and mewls at the friction it causes. The sound of heavy breathing and the occasional sensual smack resonating from their lips has Richie’s head spinning.

Stan sits up suddenly and paws at Richie’s shirt like he’s some animal.

“Whoa, okay, Stan, slow down.” He laughs through his comment but strips himself of the shirt regardless.

Bill comes back with a bottle of lube and condoms (what a gentleman) and tosses them to the ground. He moves Richie’s unoccupied leg to the ground and comfortably sits at the end of the couch. Stan leans so his back is pressed flushed to Bill’s chest and gyrates his hips in a little figure eight.

“ _ Fuck _ , yeah, Stan, just like that,” Richie groans and grips his hips harder, rolling his up to meet him half way. There will be bruises at the end of this, all three of them knows how this goes.

Bill kisses Stan’s neck, a sensitive slope of skin that really should be covered in hickies. He trails his fingers to his collar and undoes the first button. Bill’s fingers are hot and soft against his skin and Stan arches into it.

Bill continues to unbutton his shirt until he has enough room to press his lips into pale shoulders and lick his ear. Richie is fumbling to get Stan’s jeans off, but his belt has proved to be a worthy opponent. He finally gets it unbuckled and Bill pulls the shirt from wear it was neatly tucked. Stan is still now, breath caught in his throat, pupils widening and shrinking.

“What do you w-want, love,” Bill asks in his soft but commanding voice. Stan’s always been so easy to obey. Richie, not so much. He finishes ridding Stan of the confines of his shirt and sets it down on the floor behind the couch. 

Stan sighs at the endearing pet name. His knees buckle everytime Bill calls him “love” or “darling” or Richie calls him “baby” or “hariño”. His throat clicks loudly when he swallows, but he hasn’t said anything. Richie experimentally rolls his hips up again and takes great satisfaction in Stan biting his lip to keep quiet.

Bill makes a humming noise like he’s figured out the world's most boring math equation. He leaves wet kisses along the column of Stan’s throat and kisses his mouth hard. Stan bucks his hips and Richie knows he’s sucking on Stan’s tongue like a whore because Stan is moaning and moving himself on Richie’s thigh again.

He pulls away, much to Stan’s dismay, and goes back to peppering kisses among his shoulder. He’s rubbing his hands along his stomach and scratches a nail across Stan’s nipple.

“ _ Oh, fuck _ ,” Stan moans and grinds down harder. “Fuck, Bill, fuck.”

Bill does it again, pinches the pink bud hard, and does the same to the other.

He whispers something in Stan’s ear and he shakes his head. There’s a moment of pause and then a breathy “yes” coming from Stan. Bill backs away and Stan carefully removes himself so he can finally,  _ finally _ , get naked. There’s no teasing, there’s no ostentatious show or display of desire and want. They’ve known each other too long and touched each other in too many intimate places to play that kind of game.

Bill grabs Stan’s hand and leads him to the end of the couch where Richie is laying silently. It’s not very out of character for Richie to get quiet when all three of them are having sex together. His mind is just taking time to process and keep up with everything so he doesn’t leave one of his boys out. But when Bill takes the reigns a little, he has the brain capacity to spit out one or two sentences here and there.

Bill takes Richie’s glasses and sets them on the table and smiles fondly at Stan when he speaks. “G-go on, Stan.”

Stan looks down at Richie, who’s smiling at him because he knows, of fucking  _ course _ he knows this is what Stan wants.

He grips the couch and Bill’s shoulder and gently places a leg in a sliver of space perfectly sized for his knee. His other leg is used as leverage so he doesn’t go toppling. Richie’s got him by the hips again, adding a little pressure so Stan will sit down comfortably. He turns his head and kisses his thigh, biting the flesh and rubbing his teeth between it.

The moment his mouth is close enough, Richie licks his tongue from his balls to the edge of his hole. Stan gasps, eyes fluttering closed and his face flushed. The grip he has on the couch and Bill’s shoulder is frighteningly tight. Richie continues licking him in broad strokes until Stan’s thighs are shaking and he’s biting his lip so he doesn’t say something embarrassing. Bill pulls the abused lip loose and kisses him hotly.

Stan’s hand finds itself moving from Bill’s shoulder to the arm of the couch and pushes his ass back. Richie’s got his tongue to slip in a little, not that Stan isn’t relaxed, but Richie just likes to work him to the edge like that. He’s sucking on the rim and the sound it makes is too loud for his liking, but Stan moans his name anyway.

“Oh God, Richie,  _ oh my God _ ,” he pants, hissing through his teeth and fucking himself back to get more friction.

Richie slips his tongue inside him fully and Stan keens, rocking himself down.  _ Oh, I like that very much _ , he thinks. 

The hand on the armrest moves to grip Richie’s hair instead and pulls it. Stan feels more than he hears Richie groan in pleasure, but it sends shivers up his spine and his hips twitch. He yanks it again and Richie moans and Stan is just delighted.

Bill has gone somewhere, but Stan really can’t tell where he is. He thinks he’s somewhere behind him or beside them watching Stan ride Richie’s face.

Stan bites his lip, almost draws blood, and whines when the tongue is replaced by a finger. His hips jump happily at this even though Richie was inside him just two nights ago. The thought alone has Stan curling his toes and digging them into the floor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stan whispers. His head is bowed between his shoulders and his back is arched.

“You gonna come,” Richie asks and smiles when Stan shakes his head. “No? You’re not gonna come?”

Stan shakes his head again. A short sob escapes him when the finger inside him speeds up. “It feels good. Oh,  _ fuck _ , fuck, Rich—”

Richie laughs (because when is he not really) and licks into him again. Stan fluidly moves with him and against him at the same time. He pushes back with his hands to get him deeper and rolls his hips forward to get the friction. He doesn’t even notice when Richie adds another finger till he feels himself get a little fuller.

The fingers slow down and pull out, playing with the rim and pushes back in and Stan thinks he’s dying. Richie repeats the action several more times just to fuck with him.

The fingers increase speed and Richie is kissing the insides of his thighs, but not where he really wants him.

Stan wants something, anything, in his mouth right now. He wants Bill’s hot skin touching his, he wants Richie’s lips around his cock. Mostly he wants to get fucked, but he knows this will be worth it.

Richie pulls his fingers free and blindly gropes for the condoms, and only now has Stan realized Bill is sitting on the floor watching them. He hasn’t made any move to touch himself at all, but he seems content to just watch his lovers love each other. He’s watching with careful eyes, watching how Stan reacts to Richie and how Richie reacts to being watched. He must have been the one to take off the rest off Richie’s clothes because the man is naked and Stan couldn’t figure out why for a moment.

Richie pats his ass and rearranges them so Stan is laying on the couch, his legs wrapped around Richie’s waist and their pelvis’s flush together. Richie rips the condom open with his teeth and rolls it on his dick with a rare seriousness that has Stan’s stomach swirling with desire.

When Richie enters him, it’s like being fucked by a god. Stan’s back bows from the couch, his pretty mouth forming an ‘O’ in a silent scream.

“Breathe, hariño,” he hears Richie say. Stan takes a shaky breath in and he swears he can feel Richie pulsing inside him.

Stan isn’t usually this needy or desperate, but they haven’t had time to do this together in so long he thinks he’ll die if he can’t have them right now.

Richie sets a pace slow and resigned. He’s sitting on his haunches with Stan’s hips in his lap, rolling his own up and pulling Stan’s closer. His breath is catching again and he’s letting out content little sighs. He looks over to see if Bill is watching them, but he finds Bill sitting behind Richie now.

His hand has tangled itself in Richie’s hair and Bill is leaving a hot trail of licks and bites on his neck.

“Fuck him,” Bill says before kissing Richie long and sensual. Their kisses are always full of tongue and biting and Stan loves watching them make out.

Stan isn’t sure what Bill is doing, but whatever it is it makes Richie snap forward and his back bow as he holds himself up with one hand on the armrest of the couch. He fucks into Stan hard and it punches a moan from him he’s never heard himself make.

Richie keeps fucking him like that, hard and slow. Stan’s thighs bounce with the amount of force being used and he’s moving his body up to get Richie deeper.

Richie’s eyes are closed and his lips is trapped between his teeth like he’s chasing something. It looks so hot, fuck he looks so hot. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and he’s grunting low in his throat. It only brings Stan closer to coming ever before.

“I’m gonna come.” Richie looks down at him, his eyes swimming with want and adoration and  _ love _ . “I’m —  _ fuck yeah, right there _ —I’m gonna come.”

Bill stops whatever evil shit he gets away with and let’s Richie take care of Stan.

He finds his prostate in a few thrusts and Stan almost screams.

Richie asks stupidly, “There?”

Stan doesn’t even have enough working braincells to buy into that shitty bit. “God, right there. Don’t stop, Richie.  _ Shitshitshitshit _ .” He’s close, Stan is so fucking close. He could taste it on his tongue if he tried.

He reaches a hand between them and squeezes his eyes shut as he wraps his fingers around his own dick. He strokes himself slowly to build his orgasm more, but not to let it fall over.

Richie is still hitting that spot and Stan is trying his damnedest to keep this going, but Richie knocks his hand away and jacks him off fast and hard.

Stan doesn’t even have time to register he’s coming until he feels his entire body tense and tremble, a choked off moan escaping him as his back arches from the couch. Richie pulls out and flings the condom somewhere. He hasn’t come yet and Stan is only a little disappointed.

Richie moves away from the couch and drops himself into Bill’s lap on the floor, who’s still fully clothed. Stan watches as Richie almost angrily grabs his dick from his pants and sits down on it without waiting.

_ Oh _ . So that’s what Bill was doing. 

Stan could get hard again watching Bill and Richie fuck. Richie has his hands grappled into the other’s shoulders, bouncing fast and hard.

Bill says something in Richie’s ear that has him tilting his head back and whispering “fuck, oh  _ fuck _ ”.

Richie leans back and braces his hands on the floor. He grinds down on Bill’s cock slowly and if Stan was any closer he’d be able to hear Richie grunting little “uh, uh, uh” noises.

Richie slaps the wooden floors and cries out when Bill takes his waist and holds them there so he can grind shallowly into him, hitting his prostate everytime.

“Shit, Bill, like that.” Richie has his head hanging back, a pleased little smile on his face. “Fuck, you feel good. So fucking good, baby.” He says something in Spanish, too, but it’s just as much nonsense as English. 

He takes a breath through his teeth and breathes out a small “oh” when Bill starts really fucking into him. Their sound of their skin slapping is pornographic and sloppy, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Richie is rocking in time with Bill now, hips rolling and stuttering when Bill can fuck him just right. He’s talking again, saying incoherent phrases that mean the same thing.

Richie can feel that eager coil in his stomach that lets him know he’s close. He tells Bill this, and Bill wraps a fist around his cock and pumps it in time with his thrusts.

“come, ‘m gonna come,” Richie babbles. He always talks more the closer he gets to climaxing. He opens his eyes and sees Stan watching with intense eyes, his cock hard again but not going to touch himself.

Richie comes from that alone, his eyes rolling back and body spasming. Bills thrusts three more times and he’s spilling himself into a condom that Richie really wishes wasn’t there.

Bill pulls out and they stay there in an attempt to catch their breaths. Richie looks over at the T.V.

It’s still asking them if they’d like to continue watching.

He snorts and neither of the other two ask him what’s so funny. He doesn’t think he’d be able to explain.

They spend the rest of their day doing domestic things like catching up on shows, making lunch, or finger fucking Bill while he makes a cucumber salad. It’s blissful to be able to just relax and not have to worry about deadlines or essays.

It’s only six in the afternoon when Stan falls asleep cuddling with Richie on their loveseat (the loveseat that can’t handle two people sitting in it, but they do it anyway). Despite watching one of Richie’s favorite shows, he thinks staring at Stan is much more fun.

Bill carries Stan to his room bridal style and Richie has the terrible thought that he wants to m-word them but the time just isn’t right.

He stares at the two rings on his right hand. He’s never taken them off for more than a few hours, and even then he keeps them in his pocket. He’d gotten them a year after they’d all moved in together, the same year they befriended Eddie. Bill has sketchbook dedicated to drawing Richie and Stan called ‘Richie Stan and Bill’ in pretty loopy letters Stan did himself. Sometimes there’s a few candid photos of Stan (Richie’s favorite was of Stan laughing at something he’d said. His face was in a mixture of surprise and utter delight and it made Richie’s heart do wonderful things. Bill’s favorite was of Stan curled up under a tree reading some non-fiction book about birds in North America) and of himself (Bill’s favorite is the photo he got of Richie sleeping on top of him, his arms wrapped around his middle as his hair fanned across his face as if it was tickling him. Stan’s favorite is Richie in his shit car smiling because Stan had sent them on a trip to the store so they can by ice cream at two in the morning).

Bill interrupts his thoughts by kissing him gently on the forehead. He hasn’t been talking a lot lately. Maybe he’s going to stop talking altogether like he did all those years ago.

“How w-was the date with, Ed-Eddie,” he asks in his soft voice. They won’t wake Stan as long as Stan isn’t in his own room. He sleeps more comfortably when he can sense them around him.

Richie sighs dramatically and uses his Southern Lassy Voice. “Awful, Big Bill, just awful. That boy there is so damn stupid; he’s gone out and said yes to goin’ on another with me. Now ain’t that just foolish.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill says even though he’s laughing. He knows he’s too big to fit in the chair so he sits on the couch and waits for Richie to follow.

Richie is bigger than Bill, but they make it work. Bill’s laying on his back with his hands running soothing lines up and down his spine. Richie has his arms around his middle and his leg dangles off the armrest while the other is planted on the floor.

“I really like him.”

Bill continues stroking his spine as he speaks. “You tell him tha-hat?”

“Of course I did,” he replies. “And then I kissed him.”

This doesn’t upset Bill at all. Instead, he makes a pleased noise and starts rubbing his head lovingly. Richie is bordering on talking in his sleep and sleeping while he talks.

“I haven’t told him about  _ us _ , though, but he’s smart. I think he’s already figuring it out.” He yawns quietly and tightens his hold on Bill. They’re going to take a nap here whether he likes it or not.

Bill makes another humming noise, but this time it isn’t pleased. It isn’t angry, either. Curious is more like it. ”He is very smart, isn’t he?”

Richie nods, no longer able to speak, and drifts off into sleep.

+

Eddie knows something is up. Deep down he’s always known they were a bit closer than other friend groups. It’s the way Bill sometimes looks at Richie after he’s told a terrible joke, or the way Richie will twist and rub his fingers along the rings he never takes off. He knows they’re in a relationship, but he isn’t angry.

No, Eddie isn’t angry at all.

He feels… curious. Curious to what it would be like to cuddle with Stan on the couch and have Bill kissing his eyelids. He wonders what sounds Bill would make when he’s aroused and he presses his thighs together tighter and bites his lip. This isn’t how you study for an upcoming test at all, but Eddie can’t help it.

He gets himself back on track and concentrated on the books and papers in front of him. There’s the scrape of a chair across from him and an overwhelming feeling of being watched.

Eddie looks up and he’s surprised to see it’s Bill. He’s smiling at him brightly and Eddie thinks he might really fall in love with that smile.

“Hey, Bill.”

“Hey, Eddie.” He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out quietly through his mouth. “I want to ask you something.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed and his mouth twitched.

“It’s about Richie.” Before Eddie can find words to reply, Bill continues. “What do you th-think Stan and I’s relationship to hi-im?”

Eddie presses his lips into a thin line that makes them blotchy when he relaxes them. There’s a pregnant silence that Bill has no intention of filling. He’s not smiling anymore, his face serious.

“You’re friends,” he says simply.

Bill hums in agreement.

“You… are… roommates.”

There’s a smile again. “What else, Ed?”

Eddie bites his lips, eyes flicking everywhere but Bill. He’s nervous to say this for some odd reason, maybe because is he says it out loud and Bill agrees that means his suspicions aren’t just that anymore.

His voice is soft and unsure when he finally speaks. Eddie doesn’t make eye contact with Bill when he says it. “You’re in a relationship with him…?”

Bill laughs softly and Eddie’s eyes snap to him, eyes blazing and anger rising. But when he looks, really  _ looks _ at Bill Denbrough, he sees his eyes sparkle and his lips pull back to show pretty teeth. His hair looks like calm arson on his scalp, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

“Yes, w-we are.” Bill leans in close and he gently grabs Eddie’s hand. His hands are warm and forgiving. Eddie thinks if Bill asked to kiss him he’d say yes. He thinks he wouldn’t even hesitate. Eddie turns his hand so they can clasp hands comfortably. He can’t turn his eyes away from him.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” he says.

Bill looks shocked for a moment, but the expression passes easily. He squeezes Eddie’s hand softly. Whether it’s in approval Eddie doesn’t know.

“You don’t?”

He shakes his head. No, he’s sure he doesn’t think it’s weird, or odd, or whatever people think it might be. Eddie thinks it’s quite healthy for people to have this. He thinks it’s weird that they wouldn’t. Not when Richie’s eyes light up when Stan texts him, not when Bill knows Stan will take care of him, definitely not when Eddie knows they love each other so much. Sure he was intimidated at first, but that means nothing when Bill’s assuring eyes fall on him.

Eddie doesn’t voice this. He doesn’t think he can, but Bill understands. He nods his head and Eddie is very much aware of how much of a presence Bill Denbrough has.

“Would it be too much to ask you o-on a date, Eddie?”

“With you or Stan?”

“Either.”

He shakes his head. Eddie really can’t bring himself to speak more than ten syllables in one sentence, can he? There’s a pause between them now, a little uncertainty, a little longing.

“May I kiss you, Ed?”

Eddie’s hand clamps on Bill’s so hard he thinks the bones rub together, but Bill doesn’t look to be in any pain. He just tilts his head and smiles softly. Oh, yes, Eddie wants to be kissed by Bill very much. He wants many things from Bill.

“Yes, please.” His voice cracks when he says it.

Bill leans across the table, casting an elegant shadow over his books and papers like they’re the most unimportant thing in the world.

When he kisses Eddie, it’s on his forehead first. His lips are smooth and a little plump and they burn Eddie’s skull to its core. He kisses his eyelid next. It’s careful and Eddie hears himself sigh. His eyelashes tickle his cheekbone. Bill presses his lips into his cheek, right where Eddie’s freckles become scarce.

They knock noses before Bill kisses Eddie softly on the lips. Eddie feels himself react immediately, sighing into it like he’d been waiting to get a breath of air. There’s just something about Bill Denbrough that takes his breath away.

The kiss is brief and childish, but it has Eddie turning red as Bill pulls away and stands.

“How ab-hout Wednesday,” he asks. “Neither of us have classes th-then.”

“Okay,” Eddie hears himself say. Bill smiles at him again and Eddie feels himself smile back.

When he walks away, Eddie watches him. His face burns. So do his lips.

+

Going on a date with Bill is the most non stressful thing Eddie has ever done. He rides a bike or walks to most places and he prefers letting the world move faster than him.

They go to an art gallery. Bill pays for the tickets despite Eddie insisting he pay for his own. 

Eddie is a little taken aback by everything. Some of the art is modern and abstract, something Eddie finds out Bill hates looking at. Most of the artworks are old and Eddie likes them much better. There are many beautiful things in the gallery, but Bill has to be the most ethereal being there. He’s wearing a plain long sleeved shirt even though it’s hot out (Eddie called him pretentious for that) and a pair of jeans. His shoes are platforms, adding an inch to his already six-one height. His hair doesn’t change, but it smells like faint strawberries.

Bill looks natural there admiring the paintings and sculptures. He’d lean over to whisper in Eddie’s ear even though they’re the only two in the exhibit. It felt so personal, so intimate. Eddie thought he was coming to like Bill much quicker than he thought.

They approach a famous painting,  _ Nighthawks _ by Edward Hopper.

“One of my favorite pieces,” Bill whispers in his ear.

Eddie turns his head and asks, “Why?”

Bill is silent and when Eddie looks over at him he’s staring at the painting with a thoughtful look on his face. Eddie stares at it too and feels peaceful.

“It can be int-t-t—” he sighs. “ _ Interpreted _ in so many ways.”

He doesn’t explain further, but Eddie thinks he gets it. It’s so simple and haunting. They stare at it for a few more minutes, too long if they’re being honest.

Bill wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist and his hand is a burning flame on his hip. He leads them to art made by famous Greeks and Romans. They’re interesting, but they don’t hold him as much as  _ Nighthawks _ .

Bill takes them to get ice cream later. He gets mint chocolate (because of  _ course  _ Bill likes mint chocolate) and Eddie gets cookie dough. They talk about artworks and Bill’s stories. Bill listens to Eddie talk about his boring health classes and the kids he works with at the hospital.

“And there’s this one kid who reminds me of myself so much it’s scares the shit out of me,” he explains. “His mom is pulling the same shit my mom did, but he’s not buying it.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie makes a pained face when he opens his mouth. “My mom had me think I was sick for most of my life. I was at the doctor’s office almost every week and she insisted I had asthma.” He laughs because he really finds it funny. “Turns out it was just terribly managed anxiety. I remember this kid broke my arm, I can’t even remember his name now, and it hurt like a bitch!” Bill laughs and Eddie does, too. “God, man, it really fucking hurt, but I didn’t  _ die _ . I’d never felt so alive a day in my life until he snapped my bone. And everything my mom told me about pools and bathrooms and other people’s  _ skin _ was just bullshit.” Eddie shrugs. “Took some running and some therapy, but I’m doing better now.”

Bill’s face is very sad when Eddie looks at him. There’s no pity, no sympathy, but just unfiltered sadness. His face looks like his heart had broken in two. Eddie bites his lip and looks away. Maybe he said too much.

There’s some brief movement and Eddie feels a pair of cold lips touch his cheek in a firmly pressed kiss.

“Oh, Ed,” Bill whispers into his face. He wraps Eddie in a weird kind of hug that’s comforting but kind of erotic because Bill is so much  _ bigger _ than him. Eddie leans into it, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. Bill kisses his hair and Eddie is flushed with affection being doted on him so openly.

“It’s really not that serious, Bill.” He takes another bite of his ice cream. He’s lying. It is, in fact, quite serious. After Eddie stopped using his inhaler he was having anxiety attacks almost every day for a year. He managed to get them down to a minimum of three every few months, but they were crippling and new to him. Sonia noticed, but she didn’t notice Eddie finally saw past her bullshit. In the end, Eddie hasn’t had an anxiety attack in half a year.

Bill lets him go and they proceed to walk a trail that will take them full circle around the park. There’s a lot of people here; moms with their hyperactive kids, people walking their dogs and teenagers skipping class to smoke cigarettes in the corner. It kind of fascinates Eddie how everyone has their own shit going on, but they can feel like they’re the only people in the world.

“What about you, Big Bill,” Eddie asks. “Any life altering stories?”

Bill thinks for a minute, but there isn’t really much besides, as Richie quotes, “that one time Bill got fuckin’ yeeted by a truck” and that’s what caused his stutter. Maybe it’s how people still give him shit about it to this day.

“Hm… I used to be mew-mute a few years back,” he settles on.

Eddie looks at him incredulously. Big Bill was mute at some point in his life? How could anyone want someone with such a pretty voice to be mute? It’d be a crime, a felony, a life sentence to silence him. Bill was so smart and funny, but he was also overly optimistic and a bit naïve. There was such a boyish quality to him that just made you love him.

“Oh, yeah. I remember these kids would pick on me so much in elementary s-school.” They throw away their ice creams, now melted and not worth consuming. “They called me shit like ‘Mush Mouth’ and ‘Stu-stu- Stuttering Bill’.”

“I wonder why.”

Bill glared at him, but it was very fond at the same time.

“Anyway,” Bill continues. “It was relentless. I was tormen-tormented everyday day.” He looks sad for awhile as he says this and Eddie is about to say he doesn’t have to keep going, but Bill talks before he can. “My stutter was s-s- _ so  _ bad, the teachers would mu-make me write down my answers instead.” A flash of anger rolls through Eddie like a freight train and the ice cream he ate feels heavy and bitter in his stomach. “After about a y-year of enduring it, I stopped talk-talking altogether.”

Bill’s eyes look distant now, glassed over with memories of torn textbook pages and a notepad and pen sitting on his desk. He’s not sad, perhaps melancholy, as he recalls elementary and middle school. As he recalls Richie and Stan staying by his side the entire time.

“I was mute for three and a half years. There was nothing a-a-anyone could do to get me to ta-talk. Except…” And Eddie doesn’t need him to finish to know what he’s going to say. Bill met Richie and Stan around this time; the stutter, the trashmouth, and the Jewish boy who doesn’t look Jewish. They met and they haven’t separated since. Eddie knows Richie is crazy about Bill, his face lighting up when he even mentions him and he becomes so animated to get Bill’s attention it’s almost as if the love between them is one sided. Stan hides it a little better, but he can’t hide the way he smiles when Bill addresses him.

Bill continues his story and they walk around the trail at least ten times. When Bill met Richie, Richie was smoking a cigarette across the street and smiling at him. Stan walked up a few seconds later and snatched the cigarette, stomping it out on the sidewalk. Richie wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“Wait, Richie and Stan were together before you?” Eddie almost chokes.

Bill laughed and said, “No, that’s just how they were back then.”

They continue walking and Bill continues talking. Richie and Stan had been friends since they were born. Bill has just so happen to run into them on the right day at the right time. 

Richie and Stan both knew sign language just as Bill did. He vaguely remembers Stan taking a push to a locker after someone thought he was throwing his hands around because they swore he was a spaz. Oh, how Bill had hated the feeling that pooled in his stomach that day. It was so violent and dizzying he had gone home early.

It takes half an hour for Bill to recount everything. It wasn’t a sad story, just bitter and unforgiving. There was a dull ache in Eddie’s chest for Bill and his disappearing stutter, but also a swell in his heart for Richie, who has a hard time being himself, and Stan, who has a hard time expressing himself. They were meant to be together. Eddie is somehow not jealous he’s missed these memories and wasn’t apart of them. He thinks that’s what makes it so good to know them. He’d learned so much about all three boys in such a short time span he thinks he might need a long nap to process it all.

Bill kisses Eddie on the cheek when he drops him off in front of his dorm. It’s so childish and sweet, Eddie almost wants to gag (and he’s sure he’s got a cavity now). Bill thinks it’s perfectly fine, doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, even though Eddie and Richie have made out twice now.

This makes Eddie feel very young somehow. Bill is the kind of boy you take home to your parents but don’t tell said parents there’s two more boyfriends at home and they’ll have to meet them later. It’s like being punched in the gut by bad news and then soothed with an ice pack immediately after.

Eddie takes Bill by his shoulders.  _ Jesus H Christ his shoulders were broad _ , he thinks and gets on his toes to kiss his lips. It’s a quick kiss, innocent enough. They keep it that way.

After Eddie enters his dorm he watches Bill wall down the street in the direction of his own home. Eddie likes Bill very much. He likes Bill  _ and  _ Richie.

But does he like Stan?

+

Eddie fucking adores Stan.

Stan is known for being a bit of an asshole to people and giving everyone the cold shoulder, but that’s only half true. He’s an asshole to Victor Criss and Belch Huggins specifically because they like to hit on him and gives Henry Bowers the cold shoulder because Henry likes to say “no homo bro” after sucking boys off in the bathroom before turning around and calling Stan a fem-fag.

Besides this, Stan is a sweetheart. He likes watching birds and writing cuss words in pretty writing. He enjoys doing nothing all day, that is if watching clouds and cooking shows count as nothing. Stan’s spontaneous in his own way. He likes to cook random things he finds in the fridge or doodle words on Richie’s back. His favorite thing to do is leave little love notes around the house (and even though Bill and Richie both know it’s him doing it, they like to pretend it isn’t). 

To be fair, Stan’s always had a bit of a problem expressing his emotions. He’s usually stoic faced and silent and that’s pretty damn intimidating. He doesn’t laugh at most jokes except for the one where the punchline is Kosher gas. That one always gets him to crack up. He’s observant most of the time and likes to stay indoors (and that’s why his skin is so pale). His favorite weather is when it rains buckets upon buckets for hours and hours.

Stan is… boring. He’s not sure what Richie or Bill or  _ Eddie _ sees in him. They never call him boring, but they all know he is. Stan’s the mom friend, the designated driver, the person in the friend group who no one would stop for while they tie their shoe because they got pushed to the back.

So it’s a bit out there for Stan when he knocks on Eddie’s door a week after his date with Bill.

Eddie looks pleasantly surprised to see him standing there. Stan is wearing a white turtleneck with blue jeans and clean sneakers. He has a jacket tucked over his arms and his face is straight, indecipherable. His hair is a mop of curls like Richie, but a lighter shade of brown and purposefully dolloped on his head.

Eddie thinks he looks stupid with his giant T-shirt and small shorts.

“Hey, Stan,” Eddie says as casual as possible. The key to getting Stan to open up is if you can guide him to the right place.

“Hi, Eddie,” he replies as casual as possible.

Eddie opens the door wider and Stan walks inside.

“What’s up?”

There’s a quiet huff from Stan, who turns to him and he’s making this little pained expression like someone pinched his nerve. A curl is loose and he pushes it back behind his ear.

“How was… your date with Bill?” A painful pause. “And Richie?”

Eddie wants to laugh. Stan’s an awkward man, huh. He can tell Stan is struggling with trying to say something or get to the point of what he’s really here for.

“It was fun. Richie’s sweet and Bill’s funny.”

Stan made a funny face. “Shouldn’t those adjectives be switched?”

Eddie snorted. “If Richie ever found I said he was funny, he’d fuck with me until I died.”

Stan’s face twitches into a smile, though it drops quickly. He clears his throat. “I’m trying to be,” another pained expression. Eddie is having a hard time keeping a straight face. “spontaneous. They say I need to be more  _ spontaneous. _ ” Anyone could guess who ‘they’ are. Eddie just can’t believe  _ they _ put sweet, awkward Stan Uris up to this. 

He’s not good with people he likes, and Eddie is no different. Small and explosive, Stan thinks of Eddie as a walking landmine. Make one wrong move and he’ll just go off. But Stan found himself quite attracted to this little attribute. His face felt hot whenever Eddie would tell Richie to shut up, or he’d bite his lip when he’d watch Eddie give Bill a nasty look because he trips over avoidable household furniture. Eddie is just a little firework; loud and unnerving but beautiful and eye catching. Stan doesn’t tell him this.

Eddie laughs. “How’s spontaneity treating you?”

“Like shit,” Stan deadpans and makes a sharp exhale through his nose. He’s still standing in the middle of Eddie’s dorm (he was lucky enough to not have a roommate). Stan looks around sharply and finds not many things are out of place. Eddie’s got medical books lined up on his desk in alphabetical order, a little plastic cup to separate his pens and pencils and highlighters. His walls have posters of Nirvana and constellations, body anatomy, ways to calm down from a panic or anxiety attack, and a white board with a to-do list. It feels so formal, yet so very  _ Eddie _ that Stan is slightly overwhelmed.

He looks to Eddie for guidance about what to do in his room, but when he does he realizes Eddie has been watching him this entire time.

“Would you like to go on a date with me,” Stan asks.

“Yes,” Eddie replies too quickly.

Stan looks elated in his own way. His shoulders relax and his eyes sparkle.  _ What a pretty boy _ , Eddie thinks.

He makes a vague gesture for Stan to sit wherever he wants, but Stan just shakes his head. Eddie shrugs and heads to his closet to change his clothes. The first thing to go are his shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Behind him Stan, ever so calmly, sucks in a desperate breath of air. There’s only a few people in this world who knows this secret about Eddie and it’s because they’re the ones who gave them to him.

Eddie Kaspbrak has tattoos.

And we’re not talking about those tiny glow in the dark planets or stars on his wrist and knee (although he does have something like that scattered around somewhere). We’re talking about full on artworks on his body. Stan’s always admired Eddie’s sun kissed skin despite how his mother had told Eddie he’d get cancer and die from being in the sun for longer than a couple minutes.

Stan is… astonished. Of the year and a half they’ve known each other, he has never seen Eddie’s tattoos. Just from his legs there’s at least six he can see. The first one is in black, a ring wrapping around his upper thigh and about an inch wide. On the back of his thigh the word “loser” is written in a bully-like way. It’s intimidating. The “s” is replaced with a “v” written in red, creating the word “lover”. On his other thigh, the left one, there are stars and planets stamped up and down his leg. It makes the limb look toned and quite pretty. Stan is wondering how he’d never noticed those before.

He tears his eyes away and looks up at Eddie instead and it’s a big mistake. On his back lies an entire garden of flowers. There’s roses, lilies, tulips, sunflowers, morning glories, and more all over him. Stan is so surprised by this that he takes an actual step back and leans his weight on the shitty dorm bed. Eddie doesn’t notice this and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

He must be doing this on purpose. That’s right, Eddie is too uptight for this. Richie told him Eddie wouldn’t even undress in front of him, then what makes Stan so different? How come Eddie is just  _ undressing _ right in front of his face? Although Stan can look away whenever he wants to. He feels like a pervert, but he’s just admiring the tattoos. That’s exactly what he’s doing.

Stan watches quietly as Eddie changes into a pair of jeans with yellow roses embroidered on it. The shirt he puts on is the same color as the little roses and he lazily tucks it in. Stan’s a bit disappointed he couldn’t see the tattoos anymore, but when Eddie catches his eye in the mirror and smiles shyly, he thinks it’s a little worth it.

Eddie pushes a headband into his hair and turns to smile at Stan brightly.

“What do you think,” he asks.

Stan lifts a brow. “Are you fishing for compliments, Eddie?”

“Depends. Are you gonna compliment me?”

That makes Stan want to give Eddie every compliment in the world.

After Eddie puts on a pair of beaten up shoes, they walk down to Stan’s car and drive to a petting zoo and Eddie wants to fucking  _ die _ . 

It’s no secret he’s got a  _ thing _ for germs, but doesn’t Stan think he’s pushing his limits? Petting zoos are filled with billions of germs, like this kid died because they got E. Coli or something or other. This can’t be legal, right? This has to be classified as a kidnapping (except it isn’t, you fucking baboon, you went  _ willingly _ ).

“Um, Stan…” Eddie says uneasily, his hands stapled to the armrest and handle of the car door. Stan takes the keys from the car and shoved them in his pocket.

He stops, hand on the door, and turns to Eddie. His face looks uncertain. “Is this… too much? For you?”

Eddie doesn’t shake his head, doesn’t nod it either. He just flexes his hands, red alerts that scream germs! germs!  _ germs! _ goes off in his head. Eddie thinks he might have a panic attack right here. Yes, he can feel it coming on. Oh, he might have one right in front of Stan, but that doesn’t matter when his mother is towering over him, the thought of disease is towering even higher. His mom would never approve of this, no no no no she wouldn’t. She never would have let him go on field trips to the zoo back home, never let him have a pet, never let him pet the new kid’s baby pig.

She never let him do anything. Now look at him! He’s having a fucking panic attack on his first date with Stanley Uris, in a car, outside a petting zoo.

He’s vaguely aware of the voice in his ear and the hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Breathe in slowly, okay,” Stan says. His voice is like a vice, and Eddie grips that motherfucker like he trying to choke it. “Breathe in slowly.”

Stan repeats his three more times before Eddie actually does it.

“Exhale slowly.” Eddie does.

They do this for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Stan is oddly calm throughout the entire thing. He eventually gets Eddie to let go of the poor armrest and the door handle, all while he whispers smooth instructions in Eddie’s ear. His hands sit in his lap and Stan continues rubbing his hand on his back but doesn’t say anything.

Eddie is filled with embarrassment and rubs both hands across his face in an attempt to wipe it away.

“I’m so sorry.”

Stan shrugs. “‘S okay. It happens sometimes. I should have asked instead of just going. I know you’re finicky about this stuff, Ed.” Now it’s Eddie’s turn to shrug. They stay quiet for awhile until Stan speaks again. “If you want, we can do something else?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No no, we can still do this! I think I’ll just keep the physical contact to a minimum.”

“You mean non existent.”

“That’s what I said.”

Stan laughs, really laughs. Eddie catches a glimpse of this and swears he sees God.

-

The petting zoo is uneventful, but Stan somehow makes it all worth it.

There’s a lot about Stan Eddie didn’t know. Like how he’s studying to be a veterinarian and has a job at a veterinary a few miles from their house. He subtly demonstrates this by just interacting with the baby animals. He feeds the goats without fear and even got a baby duck to follow him around the pen. Eddie can’t lie, Stan does look cute smiling with a baby cow licking his hand (although he didn’t find it very funny when Stan began chasing him with slobber covered fingers).

After Stan has cleaned his hands with sanitizer twice, they venture on to the giant tortoises. They weren’t very interested in eating, but it was a good spot to stop and talk.

“Thanks for helping me out,” Eddie says.

“No worries, seriously. Richie used to get them all the time back when we were just starting to date.” This is new information to Eddie. He isn’t sure how to take it. The confident, brave, Trashmouth was crippled by panic attacks? “He doesn’t like talking about it because he thinks it’s embarrassing, but it isn’t. The place we grew up in,” he glances at him. “really fucked Richie up bad.”

“Fucked up how?”

Stan gives him a long look, one that’s cold and calculating. It’s a look Eddie hopes to rarely ever be under. They move toward the rabbits. Stan rips up some lettuce and pellets and gently feeds it to a brown rabbit with floppy ears.

“Do you know who Henry Bowers is?”

“Yeah, the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.” Henry wasn’t just the average bully. When Bowers made a threat, it was actually a promise. Bowers was what Eddie called “a lost soul”. His dad was a racist, homophobic, sexist bully and Henry was too. If you were black, he’d kill your dog. If you were gay, he’d try to cut off your balls. And if you were a woman… well, God forbid you’re a woman in Henry Bowers’ presence.

Stan snorted and tossed some more lettuce to the rabbit. It munched happily as they talked. “Yeah, well. Henry did a number on Rich. When we were young, there was like this neon sign that flickered ‘I like boys’ on the top of Richie’s head. Henry tormented him everyday. In the showers, he would take a leather belt and just beat Richie to hell with it. By the time he’d be done, Richie was red and covered in welts.”

No, Eddie doesn’t want to hear this. He regrets this conversation, starting to regret this date. It didn’t even start off on the right foot. “Stan, I don’t think—”

He stood up suddenly and turned to Eddie. His face looked as if he was about to cry, but his eyes were so angry, so very angry. “No, you need to hear this because Bill and Richie won’t tell you. Richie suffered more than anyone in Derry. I was always fine with who I was as a person, there was never any doubt in my mind that the way I saw boys and girls were different, but Richie suffered and I still don’t know why. People used to call him Cockmouth instead of Trashmouth, used to write ‘faggot’ and ‘dick warmer’ on his car.” Stan takes a shaky breath and Eddie is scared he’ll get hysterical. “He couldn’t even look at a car or go into school or hold my fucking hand without having a panic attack.”

Stan’s eyes look glazed over. Eddie knows that look. He’s gone off into another world. This date is turning out a lot darker than Eddie thought.

“The school had him take his showers separately and his parents got him therapy. They didn’t have the money to up and move, but they helped the best way they could.” Stan looks at Eddie and smiled. It’s a very sad smile, one that's made to break hearts. “Richie’s alright now. He’s still got a few kinks to work out, but he’s been good.”

It’s not an awkward silence, but it’s heavy. It hangs between them like a night terror in the day time.

Eddie knew Henry Bowers was a bully, hell  _ everyone _ knew he was a bully, but Eddie didn’t know it was this bad. Perhaps Eddie was too busy getting bullied by his mom to notice.

Stan cleared his throat and looked away. He may have let out some unexplored emotions.

“Sorry.”

“No,” he hears himself say and meaning it. The thought of Richie being beaten down, bullied, and minimized for just being who he was felt familiar to Eddie. Sonia was no different. She always said something was wrong with her Eddie Bear, then she’d grab him by the hair and make him pray that God will forgive him for his sins. At that time, he didn’t know what she meant. “I didn’t know that about Bowers at all. I mean I knew he was a bully but…”

“Henry Bowers is batshit. I’m still surprised he even got out of Derry. The people in that town don’t need to spread like the plague.” Stan stares down at the rabbits, who have now lost interest in them both. For a moment, Eddie thinks Stan has turned to stone, but he looks back at him and smiles brightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his cheeks are faint with freckles. Stan Uris is an oddball, huh. An enigma, a million piece puzzle without all the pieces.

“So,” Eddie starts. “What animal do you think I am? I feel like I’m an alpaca.”

+

Eddie sits on the information that’s been handed to him. When Stan dropped him off at the dorm, he didn’t kiss him. Instead, Stan hugged him incredibly tight and it felt much more intimate than swapping spit. Stan’s heart was a steady beat in his chest, soft and thumping like a lifeline.

“You’re gonna be good for us, you know that,” he said when Eddie pulled away.

So Eddie sits on the information that’s been thrown at him and untangles it.

There’s Richie. Richie seems to bring the best out in Eddie. His best somehow looks like his worst. Eddie always feels like he’s manic when Richie’s around. There’s desperation for each other’s attention, the constant need to be touching each other someway. Richie knows how to make Eddie  _ want _ things, to just let his primitive brain take over so he can have things he wants. Eddie thinks having a relationship with Richie needs homeostasis or else there will only be chaos.

Then there’s Bill. Big Bill. The steady mountain only a few people have climbed. Bill makes Eddie want to calm down and just be. He’s so understanding and quiet. Bill is warm and soft and wears ugly Christmas sweaters unironically. Eddie thinks Bill has a gravitational pull, likes it’s impossible not to fall in love with him. He’s just trying to make people happy, and Eddie thinks that’s incredibly sweet. Falling in love with Bill Denbrough would be like having the ocean flow over you.

And Stan. Emotionless, stoic Stan. He’s so full of emotions, it amazes Eddie how he keeps them inside himself. It must be rare for Stan to burst with feelings because even he looks shocked at himself. Yet Stan is so sweet and soft in everything he does. He likes to rest his hand on the small of Bill’s back for no other reason than because he can. And he loves it when Richie kisses the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Stan’s always had such a hard time pushing emotions forward, but he makes up for it by being gentle and careful with his lovers.

Eddie continues to toss these thoughts around until there isn’t much tossing to do. He’s figured out some obvious things: Eddie likes Richie. He likes Bill and he likes Stan, too. He’s made out with Richie, kissed Bill, and shared a very personal date with Stan.

And he wants to do that again. Eddie wants to do that with them.

+

The next time Eddie sees Richie is in the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday.

Eddie is sitting on the floor of his dorm watching Bob’s Burgers when Richie texts him out of nowhere.

_ hey _

_ hey _

_ hey spaghetti _

_ open ur door >:( _

_ don’t b a coward eddie  _

_ natural selection comes for cowards first _

Eddie rolls his eyes at his phone, though he can’t help but smile.

He opens the door to Richie looking like a kicked puppy.

“What do you want, Trashmouth?” Eddie asks as he leans on the doorframe.

Richie sighs dramatically. “My boyfriends kicked me out the house for today.” Eddie gives him a “what the hell did you do” look. Richie has the nerve to look offended and crosses his arms over his chest in mock defiance. “ _ I _ didn’t  _ do  _ anything! They just can’t handle the truth.”

“Which is…”

“Pineapple belongs on pizza.”

Eddie almost shuts the door in his face.

Instead, he takes pity on Richie and lets him in. He sees the set up Eddie has on the floor and plops down right beside the empty space. Without a word, Eddie starts the show back up again.

“I personally relate to Linda because I, too, enjoy making fun of my lover’s hair loss,” Richie says not even two minutes in.

Eddie snorts. “No, you’re more like Eugene.”

“Elaborate on this false accusation.”

“See!” He points flicks an index finger between the laptop screen and Richie. “That right there radiated Eugene behavior.”

Richie had the nerve to show offense. He uses his Totes Magotes Voice when he talks. “Spaghetti, I’ll have you know I invented comedy—”

“That was Charles Chaplin.”

“Don’t interrupt my villain monologue, stepson.”

“Stepson,” Eddie screeched in delight.

“Your mom’s gonna be pissed if she finds out we aren’t getting along,” he says in his Bobby voice (which actually just sounds like Joe from Family Guy).

Eddie covers his face to hide his giggles. He dared a glance at Richie, who is staring at him seriously, and it doubles him over in laughter.

“God, Richie, shut up.” He says between gasps. Richie is so not funny. “Beep beep.”

“That’s  _ dad _ to you, boy.”

Tears threaten to spill from his eyes and he’s laughing so hard he has to clutch Richie’s arm to keep from falling over. Eddie is vaguely aware of Richie laughing as well.

“Yeah, well.” A fit of laughter overtakes Richie for a moment. “If I’m Eugene, then you’re Louise.” Eddie looks up at him, confused but still smiling. “You’re small and angry.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to look serious. Richie knows he’s not being for real as the look of smugness on his face gives him away.

Eddie shoves him. Richie shoves him back. Eddie shoves him hard enough for him to fall back against the floor with a soft thud. Richie laughs softly and doesn’t get back up. Eddie stares at him with another look of confusion.

Then it clicks.

Oh.

Eddie crawls up to him on his hands and knees, shivering slightly when Richie tenses up. He moves so his knees are on either side of Richie’s thighs and straddles him. Eddie lets his hands slide along the carpet, lowering himself to press up against the body below him. Richie’s hands settle on his waist.

Eddie uses his forearms to pull himself up so his face aligns with Richie. There’s a pool of arousal pouring in his gut when Richie rolls his hips up subtly. Eddie parts his lips and closes the gap between them.

It feels familiar, the push and pull of kissing Richie. The knowing pressure of his tongue exploring his mouth, the way his hands squeeze his body to spur Eddie on. Eddie huffs and a contented sigh and Richie swallows it whole.

Richie moves a hand to Eddie’s thigh, the other to his ass, and pushes him down then forward. Eddie moans softly and bites down on the other’s lip. Richie does the motion again and  _ fuck _ , that’s nice.

Eddie pulls Richie’s glasses from his face and tosses them somewhere safe before kissing him hard. Richie gasped, but responded in kind, his hips jumping.

Eddie sat up and unbuttoned the ugly cat button up shirt Richie was wearing.

“This shirt is really fucking ugly,” he whispered, even though they were alone. He smiled when he heard Richie laugh.

Richie sat up to assist Eddie in ridding him of his offending shirt. He yanked Eddie free of his own and didn’t waste any time covering his chest in wet hot kisses. Eddie swung a leg over to cage the taller man in. Richie licked his nipple, punching a groan out of Eddie. He bit on softly before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. Eddie arched into it, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck and pulled himself closer.

Richie was going to do the same thing to the other when Eddie grabbed his face and shoved his tongue into his mouth. Richie miraculously got his feet under him and Eddie clung to him like a koala as he got them to the bed without tripping or falling or dying.

Eddie was thrown on the bed, making him bounce. The manhandling made him flush with arousal.

“Just look at you.” Richie licked his lips, pulling Eddie’s sweatpants and boxers off in one go. “God, Eds.”

Eddie is dizzy with want. He feels like his body is on fire with the need for Richie to be close. He’s got his legs spread far enough apart for the taller man to make a home between them. Eddie can feel his skin break out in a sweat and thinks about how disgusting it’s going to be later, but Richie has a hand on his calf and his lips sucking on his thighs and there’s nothing more important than this moment.

Richie slowly makes his way down to Eddie’s throbbing dick, kissing it on its head. Eddie cants his hips up and whines softly.

Eddie’s eyes are squeezed shut, his fingers gripping Richie’s hair for life, as Richie licks and kisses along the shaft of his cock. He cranes his head up and cracks an eye open, only to see Richie move lower and suck one of his balls into his mouth.

His head falls back with a thump. “Oh my God,” he moans. “Rich,  _ fuck _ .”

Richie tongues his way back up and strokes Eddie hard and fast. He smiles slyly before swallowing Eddie down whole. Eddie’s back bows from the bed, and he makes a choked off noise.

Eddie hooks a calf over the other’s shoulder and rolls his hips up experimentally, but Richie gets a hold of him and plants him back on the bed. Eddie pulls at his hair and Richie moans around his cock. It makes Eddie’s eyes roll back.

He’s faintly aware Richie has sucked people’s dicks before, specifically Bill and Stan. Eddie wonders how Bill sounds when Richie is between his legs like this, bobbing his head in earnest and pressing his legs into his cheeks. He wonders how Stan arches and writhes as Richie twists a nipple and swallows around him in one go.

Richie pulls away, but not before sucking hard on the head. Eddie tugs hard on his hair again. Richie’s shoulders go lax and his eyes become fuzzy before focusing back in. He crawls on top of Eddie and kisses him full of tongue and teeth.

Richie’s clothed cock slides against Eddie’s and the lick of friction makes him whine high and needy. Richie kisses him till his lips feel wet and bruised, and starts kissing his neck and shoulders. Eddie makes an attempt to get the jeans unbuttoned, but it’s hard to concentrate when Richie is pushing his head back so he can suck on the column of his neck.

“Why the  _ fuck _ are you still wearing pants,” Eddie snaps. He hears Richie laugh near his ear and hates how much he loves it. 

Richie moves off him, much to Eddie’s protests, and strips out of his jeans and boxers and Eddie has to bite his lip from moaning.

Richie’s dick is huge.

Like Eddie could feel it through his jeans, but it doesn’t compare to seeing the real thing. He’s cut is the first thing he notices. The head is an angry red, but flushes to a warm flesh color as it continues down his shaft. There’s a long vein prodding out the side. Eddie has seen his fair share of big dicks, but he doesn’t think he’s even got dildos that big.

It makes his mouth water. He only has two thoughts going through his and it’s  _ big dick _ and  _ fuck me _ .

His eyes flick up to Richie. “Lube’s in the bottom drawer.”

Richie is back with a half used bottle of lube and a condom (buying a variety of sizes came in handy, huh). He throws the condom on the floor and uncaps to bottle to coat his fingers in the clear liquid.

The first finger is always the easiest Eddie comes to realize after years of doing this to himself. He likes the build up of knowing what’s coming next and this is no different. 

Richie has a finger buried in his ass to the knuckle. Richie’s hand are so much bigger than Eddie’s, it’s almost illegal. He’s sure if he was any smaller, the taller male would be able to make his fingertips touch when he folds them around his waist.

He twists the finger and presses the pad of it into Eddie’s walls. He arches slightly, moaning breathily. Richie removes his finger completely, rubs it around his hole, before pushing it back in. Eddie’s got his hands twisted into the pillow so he doesn’t go absolutely apeshit.

Richie adds a second finger. It’s a bit harder, but not by much. He drapes a leg over his shoulder and pushes his fingers in deep. Eddie drops his mouth open into a little ‘O’ shape, rolling his hips up to meet the scissoring fingers inside him. Richie speeds his hand up and uses his wrist to twist his hand.

Eddie moves his hands to the headboard. “Oh, fuck. Oh  _ fuckfuckfuckfuck _ .” He rocks his body up to get him to brush past that spot. “Shit, fuck yeah. Keep doing it like that.”

Richie has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and it’s quite cute until he smiles and there’s three fingers shoved up his ass, fucking him at an alarming pace. Eddie feels his entire body throb with  _ more more more _ . He’s never wanted to have so much of one thing in his life.

“Fuck me, Richie.” He’s using the headboard as leverage to fuck himself on the other’s hand at this point, shame and dignity can piss off. “C’mon, give it to me. I want it, I want you.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie starts. He picks the condom off the floor, calmly opens it, and rolls it on his dick. It’s absolutely infuriating. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Eddie is about to say something snappy when Richie lines himself up and pushes in.

There has to be a name for this feeling. Just the term “ecstasy” isn’t enough it define this emotion. There’s no reason for sex to be this good with anyone, playing into the fact Eddie had only had sex with one person and it was a woman and it ended in him just leaving her house with a limp dick. But he knows how it’s supposed to feel. The stretch, the burning, the pain. Then the pleasure, the push and pull, the chase. He’s felt it all before, but nothing can make him wrap his head around the shaft of Richie Tozier’s dick entering him and the amount of pleasure it’s filled him with.

“Yes,” Eddie whispers when Richie bottoms out. It feels like he’s being torn down the middle in the best way. Eddie Kaspbrak knows how to take cock. They take a moment to catch their breaths. After a few moments, the pain ebbs back and gets replaced with the feeling of being full. “Move.”

Richie didn’t need to be told twice. He pulls halfway out and slowly thrusts back in. The amount of caution is appreciated, but if Eddie doesn’t get his guts scrambled like a fresh batch of eggs, there’s going to be a few problems.

“Don’t be a pussy, just fuck me, asshole,” he snaps and doesn’t miss the way Richie’s chest stutters. He grabs hold of the leg on his shoulder and wraps the other around his hip. He leans back on his haunches and fucks into Eddie hard. He pulls out to the tip and plunges in deep. Eddie bows from the bed and grips the headboard so hard his knuckles turn white. “Yeah, Chee, fuck yes.”

He leans over him and presses a palm into the wood and fucks him hard and fast.

Richie likes the way the both his boyfriends sound during sex, but Eddie is all around pornographic. He grunts when he likes something and moans loudly when he loves it. His mouth will hang open, head thrown back, hair fanning across his pillow, and chant praise like a prayer.

“That feels so fucking good.” Eddie is rocking himself up into the thrusts when he feels white hot pleasure shoot through his spine. He tenses up and brings Richie closer to that spot. “God, right there. Fuck me, fuck shit.”

The headboard is banging loudly against the wall, but who gives a shit? Richie slows down and angles his hips to press against the bundles of nerves. It makes Eddie’s hips chase him. Richie stops moving and just watches Eddie fuck himself on his cock, his lip bitten and swollen. He leans down and licks into his mouth. Eddie wraps his hands into his hair and yanks so hard Richie’s neck snaps back. A cracked moan escapes him and he thrusts hard.

“You like that,” Eddie asks, releasing his hair. Richie hides his face in his shoulder, but Eddie can hear his grunts of effort. His body is burning with the need to come so he keeps talking. “You like it when I pull your hair?” His voice is so wrecked he barely recognizes it.

“Yeah,” Richie grunts in time with his trusts. So Eddie pulls at it again and marvels at how his hips move erratically when he does.

“I bet Bill fucks you like this. On your hands and knees, pulling on your hair like that.” That makes him whine and thrust faster. Like he’s chasing something. Eddie can feel his orgasm building. The coil in the pit of his stomach is tightening. “Bet you like choking on his dick when he fucks your mouth, don’t you? Bet you want him to fuck you right now.”

“God, Eds.” Richie leans back up and fucks Eddie in earnest, their skin slapping obscenely loud together. He takes his dick and jacks it in time with his thrusts. Eddie gasps when ropes of white hit his stomach and chest, his whole body tensing and vibrating. Richie thrusts a few more times before his hips come to a stop, spending himself inside the condom.

Richie sits back comfortably on his legs and pushes the hair from his face. Eddie watches him with a lazy smile. They’re covered in sweat and come and the only thing Eddie’s fucked out brain and think about is how hot Richie looks out a breath, completely wrecked, with his hands in his hair.

Richie grabs a shirt from the basket of dirty clothes and wipes the cooling come from Eddie’s chest. He flops back down beside him as neither make a move to get dressed.

“Holy shit, is it always that intense?”

Richie laughs airily. “Usually.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything else. There isn’t much else to say besides the undeniable want to fuck again.

They eventually put their boxers on, but nothing else to each other’s delight, and go back to the living room. Richie finds his phone in the pocket of his pants at some point and sees a few texts from Stan and Bill.

Stan:  _ im being forced to let you back in the house _

_ you disgust me you know that _

_ it doesn’t belong on pizza you’re a fool Chee _

_ the other love of your life is too nice and whatever he says about me is a lie and a half _

Bill:  _ you have been officially unbanned stan said he missed you but he won’t admit it so don’t tell him I told you _

_ aw shit he saw what I said he’s gonna deny it _

_ tell Stan I said he’s a big baby _

_ nvm you’re banned again - stan _

Richie outright laughs at this. Leave it to Stan and Bill to confuse him about whether or not he’s free from his punishment.

_ so can I cum back or _ , he texts their group chat. He sits on the couch with Eddie and lets him watch what they say.

_ don’t spell come like that it’s weird _ , Stan says.

_ yeah and bring Eddie with you _ , Bill says.

Eddie throws a brow up and frowns. Richie pales a bit, but recovers fast. “They just wanna talk or whatever. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Eddie says cooly. He shifts so he can rest his chin on Richie’s shoulder. They haven’t stopped touching since they located themselves to the living room. Eddie’s got a hand on his thigh and Richie is resting his head on Eddie’s.

Bill texts something else to the group chat, which Eddie has noticed is named Billiam’s Boys.

Richie’s fingers are tapping away and he sends a message that goes as the following:

_ well if you notice anything wrong with him it’s bc I dicked him down like ten mins ago _

Eddie reads the text three times. His face heats up so fast he becomes dizzy with embarrassment. He smacks Richie loudly on the thigh.

“Ow, fuck! What the fuck did I do,” he asks, laughing. Clearly, only one person here finds this funny. Well… Eddie finds it kind of funny.

Eddie keeps swatting at his thigh and punctuates each word with a slap. “Why would you tell them that?”

“It’s important inform — shit,  _ ow _ — it’s important information, Eddie Spaghetti!”

Eddie feels himself flush at the nickname. Damn it, Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass.

Bill and Stan reply at the same time. They must be sitting by each other. Eddie wonders if they’re dressed comfortably in homely clothes or if they’re just as naked as he and Richie are right now. Maybe Stan is sitting in his lap or they’re laying on top of each other in bed or on the floor.

Bill:  _ oh already? I thought you’d hold out until after the conversation _

Stan:  _ fuck and I missed it _

Richie:  _ STAN _

Stan:  _ what what did I say _

Eddie wants to die. He continues to watch Richie and Stan banter back and forth while Bill types something.

Stan:  _ im just saying you could have invited me _

Richie:  _ you banned me from the house bc I said pineapples belong on pizza _

Stan:  _ which you’re still wrong about but I didn’t ban you from inviting me _

Richie huffs a breath of laughter.  _ it was premarital sex so it doesn’t really count anyway _

Eddie can feel a laugh in his chest. It slips loose when he sees Stan’s reply.

Stan:  _ aw you’re right now you’re going to hell for a different reason _

Richie:  _ STAN YOU CAN'T SAY THAT _

Stan:  _ WHAT WHAT DID I SAY _

Bill:  _ just get home before I ban you both from having a phone _

Richie:  _ >:(  _

Stan:  _ but I didn’t do anything _

Bill:  _ Stan last week you sent Richie the same photo of Garfield for 16 continuous hours _

Stan:  _ I don’t recall _

They laugh so hard they tear up. Whatever other texts and notifications Richie gets, he doesn’t answer.

They get dressed in pretty comfortable silence and walk over to their house. Richie uses his key to unlock the door.

Stan is in the kitchen sitting on the counter wearing a sweater that clearly belongs to Richie and running shorts that very obviously belong to Bill. It’s almost impossible to get him to wear his own clothes at home. Kind of like fighting off a feral cat (Richie’s words).

Bill is washing the dishes beside him, saying something about the bookstore.

“Hola, hariños,” Richie announces. He adds something in rapid Spanish that only Stan responds to.

“Eddie, come help me with the dishes, please,” Bill says. Stan hops down and walks to the living room. Richie follows him like the sick in love puppy he is. There’s still plenty of dishes left to be cleaned, pots and pans crusted with grime and food. Bill is elbow deep in soapy hot water, sitting them carefully on each other in the second sink to be tended to. “I just started. Rinse and dry them, okay.”

It’s not a question or a demand, but a suggestion. He’s giving Eddie a choice to back out. Eddie turns on the water, rinses a plate, and thoroughly dries it before putting it on a rack.

“Stan t-told me your date with him took a bit of a t-turn.”

Jumping right into it, huh. “I wouldn’t say turn. Unconventional is more like it.”

Bill nods and continues washing silverware. The fork has a burnt piece of macaroni on it. Richie’s doing, no doubt. “Stan is quite eh-eh-emotional about Richie if you haven’t noticed. He’s always so calm and collected, b-but Richie tends to bring out the best and worst in him.”

“I think he just has that effect on people,” Eddie replies. Although he’ll admit he agrees with Bill. Stan never gets angry. If he does, it would have to take a significant amount of build up for him to explode with it like he did with Eddie. He rinses and dries two more plates before Bill talks again.

“He liked you the mo-moment he saw you. He saw you outside and said, ‘Bill, I’m leaving you for that shorty over there’ and pointed t-to you.” Bill laughs when he looks over and sees Eddie blushing. Leave it to Richie to shout his feelings to the whole world.

Bill looks back down at the sink. In the living room, Stan and Richie are trying to decide on what show to watch on Netflix. If they turned around they’d see Stan laying on top of him, smiling softly into his chest.

“Eddie, do you want to be with Richie?”

Eddie is in the middle of washing a knife. Bill is scrubbing a cup. Eddie calmly puts it back it in its rightful place. Bill waits for him to answer.

It would be illegal to say no. Eddie would have to be an idiot to look anyone in the eye and say he doesn’t have feelings for Richie. He’s never been high, but if this is what it would feel like he’d love to be higher than a kite. Eddie isn’t sure he loves Richie, but he knows he could. It wouldn’t take much to tip him over. A couple of jokes, a few kisses. Maybe more than a few stupid dates and Eddie would say it. 

But Stan and Bill have crawled their way inside his heart. They’re little mysteries to Eddie. Bill’s sweet and soft way of talking. Stan’s unique way of showing his affection. Eddie didn’t think he’d want that, didn’t think it was possible to be in a relationship with three people at once. Would he even have that much attention and affection to give? He wants to know. He wants their hands in his hair, their lips on his chest. Eddie wants to rip them open and lay a piece of himself in their hearts so they never forget him. It would be an even bigger lie if he said he didn’t have feelings for both of them. 

“No, I don’t.” And that came out horrible. It stops Bill short like he needs to be rebooted. Eddie tries his best to calm his thudding heart. He knows this will lead in the right direction, but the process of it is making him wish the water was a little hotter so he could focus on it instead of the way Bill’s shoulders tense. “I want all of you.” He says in a small voice. Eddie slams a fork in the drawer too hard to fill the silence. Bill has stopped moving completely now and it’s scary, it’s so fucking  _ scary _ and it’s fucked up how Eddie wants him to hurry up and say something. Bill didn’t rush Eddie. He let him collect his thoughts and take his time. He takes a deep, wheezing breath and repeats himself. “I want to be with all of you.”

Bill blinks at him stupidly and he looks like an innocent little boy. Then he smiles and nods. They finish the dishes silently.

+++

It’s cold as shit outside. There’s snow packed on the window sills and at least five inches of chilled white power on the ground. Classes have officially been cancelled due to “slightly bad weather”.

The dorm was too lonely to stay in so Eddie took an Uber to his boyfriends’s house (he’s still not used to saying that after six months, plus it just sounds weird to say out loud). Stan had sent him a video of Richie and Bill having a snowball fight with the caption  _ save me from these idiots _ under his text.

Stan greets him at the door in a sweater and pajama pants with birds on them, a gift from Eddie for Christmas. He won’t take them off. Seriously, they tried.

Eddie is hit with a blast of warm air and the smell of cookies. He smiles under his two scarves and three layers of jackets, plus a coat and an ugly hat Richie bought him.

Stan let’s him in and Eddie can hear Bill and Richie in the backyard shouting and laughing. There’s silence for a few seconds, the sound of a wet  _ thwack _ , and then Richie’s unhinged laughter.

Eddie peels away his layers at the door and leaves them in a closet full of blankets and hangers. Most of the jackets and coats are piled on top of the fools outside.

When Eddie walks to the kitchen he sees Stan squatting in front of the oven with a fierce look.

“Watched pots never boil, you know,” Eddie says. Stan gives him the finger. Eddie squats down by him. There’s a batch of cookies sitting on a pan with almonds sprinkled on top of each one. They look… plain. “What are you making?”

“Jødeckager,” Stan responds, never turning his eyes away from the oven. When Eddie doesn’t respond, he looks over and snorts. “Jewish cookies. They’re made with sugar, cinnamon, and almonds.” Stan shows him a picture of them. They still look… plain.

Eddie huffs and taps the oven with a finger. Outside, Bill is on top of Richie and stuffing snow down his back. There’s a lot of screaming, but they’re used to it by now. “How long until they’re done?”

“I just put them in the oven,” Stan replies sounding fully upset. They stare at the oven some more and watch the cookies rise.

It was a little awkward between them for a while. After Bill announced Eddie would become exclusive with them, Bill insisted Stan take Eddie on another date. Although being taken to a pumpkin patch was nice, they spent most of it just talking because Stan is just one of those people. He doesn’t like extravagant things like fancy dinners or private plane rides to Europe or whatever it was Richie was trying to get them to do in the fall.

“Stan likes vibes,” Richie had said one day when he’d gotten kicked out the house again. “It’s not about anything else with him. If you vibe with Stan, then you’re doing something right.”

Anyway, they're staring at cookies for not even a minute when they get interrupted by Richie’s flailing body coming to the kitchen.

“Eddie,” he shrieks behind his puffy coat.

“Why are you yelling,” Stan says at the same time Eddie says, “Shut up, Richie.”

Eddie stands up and Richie shifts his scarf under his chin. He smiles that too sweet smile. Eddie is suddenly aware he can only see one of Richie’s hands.

“Don’t.” Eddie backs up and carefully steps around Stan to get to the other entrance. “Don’t you fucking do it.”

“Don’t do what, Spaghetti?”

“I’m gonna punch you.”

Richie lays his hand on his chest, but his smile is so threatening. “What did I do to deserve this treatment?”

“Didn’t you throw snow at me yesterday while I was in the shower,” Stan says from the ground.

“I don’t recall.”

Stan looks over at Eddie and shakes his head. His face is serious, but his eyes are full of laughter.

Then there’s a pair of ice cold arms wrapping around his waist and a large body pressing against his back.

“You asshole,” Eddie shouts struggling to get from Bill’s grip. Richie is laughing delightedly and walking toward them. Stan is laughing too, making his way up and over to them. “Fuck off, Bill.” But it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s also laughing so hard his sides hurt.

Bill kisses him all his cheek and Eddie hates how much he loves it, but holy  _ shit _ his skin is cold. Richie slides his gloved hands over his face to cup his cheeks and those are cold as balls, too! Eddie is so not enjoying this. Richie kisses him straight on the mouth. Eddie can feel his face burning.

“When did y-you show up,” Bill asks, pulling away to kiss Stan quickly.

“A few minutes ago, actually.” Eddie swats Richie away from his face, but the other is making his infamous kissy face where he’ll pretend to be hurt when no one will give him a kiss. It involves watery eyes and sad sighing. It’s kind of hard not to kiss him when he looks like a kicked puppy. Eddie ignores him. “Stan and I were watching his cookies.”

“A watched pot n-never boils, my love,” Bill directs to Stan. 

Stan huffs. “I know, but I want Jødeckager.”

“What’s the timer say?”

Stan looks at the timer. “Three minutes,” he says sadly.

Bill laughs and kisses his temple. The two big frosty giants go to take off their coats. They come back to the kitchen and Eddie’s heart is filled with adoration and disgust.

Bill is wearing this thick, brown sweater and it’s just so ugly that it only looks good on him. It looks like a carpet had been dragged through the mud. But what makes Eddie pinch his face is the words “Ho Ho Homo” in all caps, bright red, all across the front of it.

Richie’s sweater is a shitshow, as always. It’s green and red and has pictures of Santa and his elves working presents on the hem of it. Above that are the reindeer and Rudolph’s bright red nose is kind of hard to miss. No, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that when Richie presses a button on the bottom left corner of the shirt, it lights up and plays the chorus to various Christmas songs. Eddie hates this sweater.

Bill recognizes the face he’s making and laughs sweetly. “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He looks to Stan. He mouths  _ say yes _ . “Yes, I like them.”

Richie smacks Bill upside the head on both sides in an attempt to cover his ears, except they aren’t anywhere near them and are squishing his cheeks instead. “Don’t lie to Billiam like that. He’s a baby.”

“Bill is a twenty-two year old man,” Stan deadpans.

“He’s a baby!”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. The timer on his phone goes off (bird chirps, God that’s so cute) and he takes the cookies from the oven.

“Billiam, look, dessert! Oh, and Stan’s cookies are done, too, or whatever.”

Stan gives him the finger. Richie moves from Bill to kiss his shoulder and hook his chin over it to watch Stan check each one. Eddie jumps on the counter to feel tall for once. Bill moves to his side and wraps an arm around his waist.

“They turn out g-good?”

Stan takes a bite of one and sighs happily. Richie snags one, too. Bill grabs two and hands one to Eddie.

The cookies are good. They all watch the snow fall while the TV plays Christmas movies. Stan and Richie eat most of them since Jewish cookies just so happen to be their favorite. Eddie doesn’t eat more than two and a half of them (and silently cheers when he doesn’t break out in hives or rashes or dies).

Bill is between his legs, leaning at an angle so his head is leveled with Eddie’s as he absently nibbles on Jødeckager, fingers pressed into his hip. Stan and Richie are on the other counter, Stan leaning into Richie’s front. All four of them are so content like this that nothing could break this kind of feeling between them.

There are things Eddie still has to learn about them and vice versa, but they’re going strong.

Bill finishes his cookie and tilts his head up to kiss the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie brings his head closer to kiss him properly. Bill lays more than a few playful pecks on his lips, laughing and smiling into them, fixing his posture so he’s standing in front of him.

Bill kisses him a little longer, adding a little pressure, but it’s still just as innocent and fun. He pulls away and Eddie chases his lips. His eyes flit to the shorter man’s mouth, back up to his eyes, and rests his hands on his small waist. Eddie has his hands on his biceps, tugging him closer, bumping his chin into Bill’s to get his attention.

Bill kisses him with parted lips, darting his tongue out along the seam between his mouth. Eddie whines and bites at his chin in retaliation. Bill smiles at him sweetly. He gently grabs Eddie by the chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up, Eddie’s mouth falling open pliantly.

When Bill kisses him this time, it’s to ravish him. He’s got his tongue thrusted into Eddie’s mouth and doesn’t give him a chance to breathe. Eddie moans happily into it, sliding his hands from his arms to his shoulders. Bill sucks on his tongue experimentally and Eddie moans breathily.

“Can you two get a motherfucking  _ room _ ,” Richie jokes even though his voice is rough and strained.

Bill looks over to see them staring. Stan is pushing himself too closely into Richie with a hand gripping the edge of the counter almost violently. Richie has a smile hiding behind his bitten lip. Both their pupils are blown wide. Eddie should start getting used to having three pairs of eyes on him, but that doesn’t stop him from flushing red with embarrassment.

Stan grabs Richie’s hand and drags him out from the kitchen to the bedroom. Bill kisses Eddie’s neck and jaw before they trail after them.

Bill takes a seat in a desk chair and watches quietly as Eddie crawls on the bed where Richie and Stan are sloppily making out. Eddie slides up comfortably behind him. Stan breaks apart from Richie, who immediately starts attacking his neck and chest with his mouth, and turns to kiss Eddie.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Richie groans between light nibbles to Stan’s clothed nipple.

Eddie rubs his hands over Stan’s small thighs, up to his hips, and begins taking off his sweater (he’s the only one in this relationship to wear something remotely normal). Richie backs away to strip the man sandwiched between them of his pajama pants and underwear. He chucks them over to the side somewhere in the general direction of their laundry basket and focuses in on his nipples again. He laps at one, sucking it into his mouth, and worries it between his teeth. Stan’s head falls to Eddie’s shoulder as he arches minutely into the heat of his mouth. 

Eddie’s eyes glance over at Bill. He’s obviously hard, the large bulge in his pants is difficult to hide, but makes no move to relieve himself. His legs are spread a bit farther apart than normal, but his hands rest almost lazily on the armrests.

He refocuses his eyes on the man below him. Eddie bites at the smooth slope of neck and puts his hands between his legs while Richie rummages for the lube. Stan’s hips stutter and rubs his ass back on Eddie.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?” Stan moves so he’s facing the shorter man and they expertly remove his offending outfit.

Stan pushes him onto his back and dives to kiss him hard. He pushes himself back to kiss his way down Eddie’s torso, biting and licking at his skin.

When he gets eye level to his dick, Stan doesn’t hesitate sucking the head into his mouth. Eddie hisses through his teeth, sucks his bottom lip to sit between his teeth, and shoves his hands in the curly light brown hair.

He hears a cap pop open and watches Richie slick up three fingers. The first one that enters Stan makes him sink deeper onto his cock and Eddie downright moans at the heat engulfing him.

Richie fingers Stan with precision and expertise. His hand is palm up, pressing the pad of his middle finger into his walls. Eddie feels more than he hears Stan’s broken moan. He hooks a leg over his shoulder and pushes the heel of his foot into his back, pressing Stan deeper onto his cock. He swallows around him and pulls back up and off with an obscene ‘pop’.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stan breathes out, stroking Eddie fast in a tight grip. Richie adds his index finger and twists his hand so the back of it is up and fucks Stan so quickly it makes him jolt. Stan is keening, tilting his ass up to get more. He takes one of Eddie’s balls into his mouth before licking from base to tip and sucking him down again, bobbing his head quickly.

Eddie doesn’t know how much more of this he can take, the flushing cold feeling of an orgasm is building up in his stomach. His thigh tenses and Stan pulls off to grip the base of his dick.

“Richie.” His voice sounding wrecked and husky. Stan bites his lip to keep from whining when Richie scissors and pushes the pads into the opposite of his walls. “Chee, c’mon I want it.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks. He adds a third finger and Stan practically sobs. “You like it when I do that?”

Stan’s entire body is sweating. His skin looks like freshly fallen snow as the sun’s reflection glints off it. He’s gripping at the sheets, breathing heady and heavily on Eddie’s dick. He’s got enough brain cells to stroke the shaft slowly. It’s the only relief Eddie is going to get for now.

Richie pulls his fingers out and moves from the bed to undress (because he somehow forgot about it while watching Stan suck Eddie down to the hilt) and put on a condom.

Stan crawls up and licks Eddie’s top lip seductively, cupping his face lovingly. Eddie shivers at this and parts his mouth so he can taste himself on Stan’s tongue. He’s got a grip on his waist and moves a hand to his ass to grind up into him, fingers like feathers swiping over his hole. A shiver wracks through Stan as he grinds down on him. The kiss becomes more aggressive, desperation to get off overcoming them both as they grind into each other like a couple of hormonal high schoolers.

The bed dips again and there’s movement behind them. Stan breaks away and curls his hands over Eddie’s shoulders, his lip tucked between his teeth and brows drawn subtly, as Richie finally breaches him.

“Breathe,” Eddie tells him because if he doesn’t Stan just won’t.

Stan takes a smooth breath into his nose and pushes himself up so his forearms can dig into the mattress. The angle has his ass presented to Richie, but hovering over Eddie.

Richie fucks him hard, pulling out to the tip and snapping his hips forward. It makes a wet erotic slap and Stan gasps into it. He pushes his ass back in time of Richie’s thrust. Richie lays a hand on the small of his back, rubbing it gently, before pulling his hips back and slamming into him.

Stan is a mess under him, panting and moaning so loudly they all think the window panes rattle.

“More. Please, more.” His grip on Eddie is slipping. He keeps gripping tighter, but the hold loosens every time Richie gets at the right angle.

Richie slides the hand on his back to the space between his shoulders and pushes firmly. Stan slides down pliantly, his back arched prettily. His hands find Eddie’s hair and the bed sheets in front of him as Richie fucks him unhurriedly.

Eddie can hear everything this way. Every hitch in his breath, every broken choked off moan, every quiet sob of pleasure that courses through him.

“Eddie,” Stan says, the last audible syllable in his name stretched out into a whine. “Touch me. Fucking touch me, please.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.  _ Fuck _ , everywhere.”

Eddie kisses his shoulder and lets his hands wander about, gripping and rubbing Stan. He licks his own fingers and pinched his nipples. He can feel is dick swell a bit when Stan’s hips curve in. Eddie trails his hands lower until one is gripping Stan’s cock and the other is brushing feather like strokes where Richie and Stan are connected.

Stan sucks in a breath and lets it out as a cry when Eddie strokes him experimentally, fingers continuing to play with his hole. He can hear Richie cuss several times, hips slamming into him in earnest. 

Eddie jacks him off slowly, only increasing his speed occasionally. He pushes the pad of his thumb into the slit, rubbing circles into the head.

“Oh my, God, Ed. Yes, fuck, yes.”

Eddie tilts his head and licks into his ear. “Like that,” he whispers. He makes a ring just below the head, biting and licking at the back of his neck, and gets Stan off in long, firm and slow strokes. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. He’s pulling at the sheets and Eddie’s hair, trying to fuck himself back on Richie’s dick and thrust into Eddie’s tight fist. “Yes, like that.  _ Oh _ .”

Richie must have found that spot because Stan is completely silent now, eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open as quiet grunts escape him. Eddie is painfully hard now as he gets Stan off.

“Cum,” he punches out between thrusts. “Oh, God, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.”

Eddie keeps stroking him as Richie pulls out and replaces his cock with his fingers again. Stan whines at the loss of being filled, but he doesn’t have time to concentrate when Eddie prodes his finger in beside two of Richie’s. He thrusts it shallowly and that sends Stan over the edge. He cums with a broken cry.

Stan huffs quietly, looks down at Eddie’s stomach, and laughs softly. He bends so he can lick the cum from his skin and Eddie only feels a moment of hesitation before he’s opening his mouth and Stan is pushing the cum into his mouth with a kiss.

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” Richie says off to the side somewhere.

Stan finally climbs off the bed and makes his way toward Bill. Bill has an arm wrapped around him the moment he’s in range, kissing him deep and hot. Stan sinks to his knees and unbuttons his jeans.

Eddie watches this unblinking, hips rolling up to relieve the pressure in his stomach. He feels like he’ll explode at any moment of his dick is even breathed on.

Richie takes the condom, ties it, and sets it on the table. He uncaps the lube again and gets his fingers freshly slick. He lifts one of Eddie’s legs to his shoulder and leans forward to breach his hole tentatively. Eddie relaxes into it and Richie slides two fingers home. He arches off the bed and moans just as Stan’s hands wrap around the thick length of Bill’s cock. The face he makes when Stan strokes him is gorgeous.

Richie fingers him slow and tamed, the direct opposite of how he treats Stan, which has always been shown to be rough and fast. Eddie’s chest stutters when he feels Richie spread the digits out and push in further. The palm of his hand is flush to Eddie’s asscheeks, fingers sliding minutely inside him. His hips are in sitting in the other man’s lap, lifting and dropping to get him deeper. Richie adds a third, hissing through his teeth when Eddie rocks into it, his ass rubbing against his sensitive cock.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good, Eds.” Eddie whines and Richie speeds his fingers up a bit. Who knew Trashmouth Tozier was this good with his hands?

Eddie knows Bill is watching, but he can’t seem to turn away from Richie and the way his glasses have fogged up. Richie sees him staring and leans down to kiss his mouth. Eddie slips his glasses from his face and hears them clatter on the floor somewhere nearby.

“Can’t see shit now,” he mumbled into his lips.

“Just fuck me, Trashmouth.”

Richie sits back up on his haunches, spreading his legs far enough apart to fit Eddie between them. He flicks the head of his cock along the rim, sliding it across the crease of his ass. Eddie is about to protest when Richie pushes in, one hand splayed on his chest, the other gripping the curve of his knee. Richie is already too close to the edge from burying himself in Stan.

He grinds himself into Eddie’s tight heat, lips kiss bitten, his face contorted into pleasure. Richie gains speed, moaning brokenly with every thrust. Eddie lays there with his hands twisted in the sheets above him, gasping for air that won’t come to him.

Richie leans himself and Eddie’s thigh forward, hand sliding to the bed where he shoves his heel into the mattress.

“You gonna cum all over me, Rich,” Eddie teases, smiling playfully. Richie is purposefully avoiding his prostate, but his cock slides across it and Eddie makes an embarrassing sound. He nods his head fevertly, hips moving faster.

“God, yeah. ‘M gonna cum all over that pretty face.” His voice was low and guttural, Eddie’s hole flutters around him in satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“C’mon Richie. Cum for me.” Richie bends down and he fucks Eddie so fast they move up the bed. Eddie hears himself cuss and whisper the filthiest things he can think of.

Richie pulls out and starts stroking himself over Eddie. He cums with a strained groan, second set of hot white ropes of liquid hitting his chest and chin.

“Shitshitshit,” Richie hisses. He strokes himself till he’s had his full and sits back on his heels, chest heaving with every breath.

He takes some random shirt from the ground (it’s Eddie’s oops) and wipes his cum off. He kisses Eddie sweetly before asking, “You want me or Bill?”

Eddie looks over and sees Bill watching them with dark eyes. Richie plants kisses along his neck and collarbones.

“I want Bill.”

Richie snorts. “Don’t we all?” He kisses Eddie one last time before getting up to join Stan in the shower.

Eddie sits up and watches Richie, naked as the day he was born, close the door behind him before staring at Bill. He smiles and finally,  _ finally _ gets up from where he’s sitting and sits on the bed. He beckons Eddie closer.

When he gets close enough, Bill kisses him hard. Eddie moans softly, climbing into his lap and falling against him. He slides his fingers under the hideous Christmas sweater, groping the hot skin and pulls it off. Bill lowers himself to the bed while Eddie gets to work on his bottom half. His jeans are already unbuttoned with Stan’s help, and there’s little resistance from Bill as Eddie strips him naked. 

He straddles him again and lines himself up. Eddie sinks down on Bill’s dick with a shudder. He rolls his hips in small circles and feels a lick of arousal wash over him. Eddie leans back and wraps his hands Bill’s thighs, propping himself up with his arms and grinds up and forward. He wants to cum so bad it’s starting to hurt, but Eddie wants it just like this, his walls aching and his body sweating. The thought alone makes Eddie grind a little faster. He shifts his hands up and bounces on Bill’s cock, punching grunts from the man below him.

Then Eddie is flipped onto his back with a soft thump. His dick leaks a bead of precum at being manhandled. Bill pushes his arms up and wraps a hand around his wrists. The grip is firm, sure, but Eddie could easily get out of it if he wanted.

Bill grunts when he fucks into Eddie. He thrusts hard and slow, too hard and not slow enough.

“Oh-ho my  _ fu-ucking _ , God,” Eddie grits out. “Fuck me, Bill. I want it.”

He fucks him and hits his prostate and Eddie almostcums right then and there. He feels his toes curl and a sob come to his throat. He needs more, so much more and he knows Bill can give it to him. 

“You s-sure?”

Eddie nods and tilts his head back to make room for the other man’s large hand. Bill wraps his hand around his throat and Eddie immediately feels his breath catch. They haven’t done this often. It’s still something Eddie is figuring out, but they happily help him find out what he likes and doesn’t like. There wasn’t much he didn’t like, but they’re just now finding out a few months ago Eddie likes being choked when he’s being fucked. And although they all can choke him, Bill does it best. He knows how to get Eddie’s eyes to roll back and cum so hard he blacks out.

Bill sits up and adds a hint of pressure around Eddie’s throat, flexing his fingers around the column. Eddie arches up and moans pornographically to the ceiling. Bill let's up on his hold and Eddie takes a gasping breath.

“Good?”

He nods. “Again.”

Bill squeezes his throat again, tightening his hand around it like a fist, and pounds into his ass. Eddie’s eyes roll back when Bill eases up, grunts coming from the both of them. For a moment, the lack of oxygen leaves Eddie confused as to where he starts and Bill ends.

His orgasm washes over him unexpectedly, making his entire body spasm. He distantly hears himself moan and Bill’s groan when he tries to suck him deeper. Bill makes an attempt to pull out, but Eddie wraps his legs around his waist, hooking his ankles together.

“Keep going.” And when Bill looks unsure Eddie just clenches around him again. Bill looks pained for a moment, like he knows Eddie is only doing this for him, but finds himself grinding shallowly into the heat surrounding him.

He’s overstimulated, he knows. There are tears pricking at his eyes and his entire body is straining with how fast Richie fucked him and how hard Bill is fucking him now. And it’s too much for him to handle, but Eddie will do it anyway because he wants Bill to feel good.

Bill tucks his face into Eddie’s shoulder as he chases down his orgasm and he’s grateful when Eddie rolls his hips up to meet him in the middle. A tear finally rolls down, pooling in his ear. He’s gasping for air, nails biting into Bill’s back as they trail down, leaving violent red marks in their wake.

Bill cums with the loveliest moan, his cock buried deep inside Eddie, face hidden in his neck. Eddie can feel the warmth of the cum spread inside him and shivers. He soothes Bill and himself, subtly wiping the tears.

Bill notices and kisses them away. Eddie lets him because he’d be more upset if he didn’t. He plants an apologetic kiss on his mouth. “Did I h-hurt you?”

Eddie shakes his head, but Bill doesn’t look too convinced. He kisses him again on his cheeks, and again on his nose until he’s left every freckle wet with his lips. Eddie doesn’t even have the energy to push him off.

He doesn’t really think he wants to.

+

They shower together. Bill cleans the cum out of Eddie and Eddie gently washes his back. They don’t do much more than lazily make out and laugh into each other’s mouths. 

Stan and Richie are back in the kitchen making more Jewish cookies when they emerge from the bathroom. Eddie is wearing Bill’s “Ho Ho Homo” sweater with a pair of boxers and Bill has on a Hanukkah sweater with plaid pajama pants (why Richie feeds into Bill’s patterned clothes addiction, they’ll never know).

“Stan, we just started baking. Why are you gettin’ upset?”

“Because I want my fucking cookies,” Stan says. No one can tell if he’s genuine or not, but they’re going to treat this like a serious situation.

Bill walks in first, kisses the back of Richie’s neck and looks down at the bowl of dough.

“Well maybe you should have made more than twelve, huh,” Richie responds, voice teasing and laughing.

Eddie watches Bill cradle Stan’s face and gently kisses his mouth. They’ve been together for almost six years, yet it’s like everyday their love is renewed, remodeled, freshly polished and put on the trophy case. Eddie thought love was supposed to be obsessive and mentally disordered. Love wasn't supposed to have a balance so that every party can be happy. Sonia always made it seem as though if Eddie was to love anyone, it had to be her.

But watching Bill love Stan, watching Stan love Richie, and watching Richie love Bill tore into Eddie’s core and it scared him. He’d mentally stumble and trip like he was drunk when they came around. It took him exactly four months, one week, and twenty-six days to realize the word he was missing when he’d talk to them was “love”.

And now that’s all Eddie ever wants to say. He wants to listen to Richie talk about his drama class and just blurt it. He wants to text it to Stan before he sleeps. He wants to watch Bill’s face light up when he tells him.

Eddie is not that smooth. Instead, he just stares at them, opens his mouth, and says, “Jesus fuck, I love you.”

They all turn to stare at him. 

He stares back.

Stan is the first to recover. “I love you, too, Eddie.” He walks over and kisses him.

Bill smiles bright and blinding. “Oh, Ed,” he whispers and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, the same exact place he did in the library all those months ago.

Richie is the last to wrap his head around this. He looks so happy he might cry. Eddie watches his eyes well with tears.

“I love you, Richie.”

Richie’s chest flutters. A tear falls down his cheek. “Yeah, well, I fucked your mom.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and Bill says “beep beep, Richie”. He stands side by side with him and wipes his face with the heel of his palm.

“Hey,” Eddie says, laying his hand on Richie’s cheek. “I love you.”

Richie nods and sniffs. “I love you, too.”

“I know.”

“Oh, eat shit, dude.”

Eddie laughs and thinks  _ Richie Tozier is a god damn dumbass.  _

And right after that he thinks  _ he also might be one of the loves of my life _ .


	2. Love on the Brain - Rihanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d been dating for six years now. Stan knows Richie inside and out, takes his good days with his bad days, and loves him greatly. And he knows this is ridiculous. Stan won’t even sleep in his own room, but when he knows Richie is away, he feels like he becomes obsessed with having to see him. As much as Richie teases him about this fact, he knows Stan is still struggling to open up. For Stan, it’s one thing for Richie to be doing a gig just a few miles away. Stan could call him right after, tell him to come home as soon as he’s done, and he’d be there. Hell, he could even go up there himself and it wouldn’t be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I CAN EXPLAIN MYSELF
> 
> I had a fit of writers block. Not because I couldn’t crank this out but because I kept thinking about Adam Parrish and Ronan Lynch from the Raven Cycle.
> 
> Also a lot of people said I did fuckin great with the characters and.... making them... genuine or whatever. That’s cus I read King’s fatass IT book and now I know them mfs inside and out >:)

Stan missed Richie. 

He missed him a lot, actually, though he’d never admit it.

Richie’s drama class was taking a trip to Greece for the week and it’s been agony, absolute agony. Stan misses his boyfriend so much he thinks he might die of heartache. He’d considered texting him, maybe even go as far as FaceTiming him, but Stan is so emotionally constipated he can’t bring himself to admit he misses him at all.

They’d been dating for six years now. Stan knows Richie inside and out, takes his good days with his bad days, and loves him greatly. And he knows this is ridiculous. Stan won’t even sleep in his own room, but when he knows Richie is away, he feels like he becomes obsessed with having to see him. As much as Richie teases him about this fact, he knows Stan is still struggling to open up. For Stan, it’s one thing for Richie to be doing a gig just a few miles away. Stan could call him right after, tell him to come home as soon as he’s done, and he’d be there. Hell, he could even go up there himself and it wouldn’t be a problem. 

But Richie is more than a few miles away. He’s an entire fucking  _ ocean  _ away. And that means the time zones are different and that means Stan might wake Richie up in the middle of the night while he’s sleeping and that means he’ll hear his tired voice and  _ that _ means he’ll miss him more. Stan can’t handle that kind of stress when the main cause of his stress isn’t even tangibly near him.

Richie has been gone for approximately three days, thirteen hours, twenty-five minutes and six ongoing seconds, but who’s counting? Definitely  _ not  _ Stan. Stan would never keep track of something so trivial.

Eddie comes over to distract him (because Bill can’t keep his mouth shut, damn him and his emotional support) and they watch The Great British Bake off until the smaller man can barely keep his eyes open. He falls asleep curled up in Bill’s lap. Bill carries him to Stan’s room, and he doesn’t mind. Stan never sleeps in it.

He looks down at his phone. It lights up when he gets a text.

It’s from Richie. Stan feels his heart jump and he grabs it to open the message..

Chee(se):  _ stop being a big baby and just call me _

Stan:  _ I have no idea what you’re talking about _

Chee(se):  _ read 21:46 _

Stan:  _ fuck you _

Chee(se):  _ is that how you ask _

Stan doesn’t reply. He was going to change his mind and say he doesn’t miss Richie at all now, but that’d be a lie.

+

Bill knows things. He’s so in tune with the rest of his boys it’s almost scary how he just… knows things.

Like how he knew Eddie was going to have a bad day at work just by how he typed “good morning”. He did, in fact, have a shit day. The coffee machine was broken, the strap on his bag snapped, and one of the kids he volunteers with had a life or death scare. When his day was over he just fell into Bill’s waiting arms and slept on the couch.

Stan doesn’t like how Bill can pick him apart by just knowing, but what does he expect from a relationship that’s been pushing a decade?

He tries everything to get his mind off how quiet the house is, how boring it is without Richie here. He practices his calligraphy for almost an hour, writing the names of birds and random sentences. They ease his mind for a while, but not as much as organizing his journal.

This doesn’t help him at all. The thought of missing Richie is pushed back for a while, but if he stops too long he’ll get flooded with them.

Stan sighs and looks at his wall. Bill is just on the other side working on his creative writing assignment. He knows the other man wouldn’t mind if he hung out in his room.

He walks out and sees dim light coming from the bottom of the door. He doesn’t knock and opens it wide enough that he can lean on the doorframe.

Bill barely looks up at him. His fingers are moving furiously across the keyboard.

“Hey,” Stan says in an attempt to look casual like he’s cool or something.

Bill glances up and smiles. Stan chews the inside of his cheek. He appreciates the man for a while as he works. His eyes have gotten worse recently, so he’s been prescribed to wear glasses. They’re simple; a thin gold structure to frame his face and two medium thick lenses. Bill’s eyes don’t look bigger like Richie’s does, but it’s a look Stan is really enjoying. 

His lips are pressed together into a thin line, but it’s his eyes that give it away. Blue and piercing, they’re skittering across the screen so much it becomes obvious to Stan Bill is having a fit of writer’s block.

Bill sighs frustratedly and slams the laptop shut. He swivels in his chair to face Stan. He reaches a hand out and Stan walks over to take it, standing between his legs. Bill pulls him in so he can wrap his arms around his middle, spreading his hands on the small and middle of his back. Stan cradles his head and cards his fingers through his hair.

“Hi,” Bill says, tightening his hold. “Haven’t seen you around. Come here of-often?”

Stan snorts but plays along anyway. “No I’m new to town and looking to cheat on my bastard boyfriend.”

Bill laughs and looks at him. His eyes remind Stan of a blue jay he saw once, beautiful and elegant and the moment he compared the two, he told Bill that same day he loved him.

Said blue jay rests his chin on Stan’s stomach.

“Richie says you ha-haven’t talked to him since he l-left,” Bill says. He rubs his hands along Stan’s back absently.

“I talked to him a couple of days ago.”

Bill snorts. “You said ‘fuck you’ th-then didn’t reply.”

“It’s our love language, William. Get on our level.” He smiles when Bill laughs. He’s really the only one who understands Stan’s deadpan humor.

They stay like that longer, swaying side to side as they hug. Bill has pressed the side of his face into Stan’s stomach again.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know?” Stan stops short, but it’s almost unnoticeable. Bill wraps his arms around him fully, his strong limbs caging him in. It only takes Stan a few seconds to realize he’s been trapped. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “I miss him.”

Stan nervously bites at his lips. A terrible habit he can’t seem to break no matter what. He opens his mouth to say he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Bill’s talking about, that Stan is perfectly capable of being detached from Richie for more than twenty minutes.

Instead, he says, “I know that.”

“D-do you? You’re so s-stubborn, Stan.”

“I don’t want to be obsessive,” he says, drawing his brows downward in a little frustrated gesture.

“Being in love and being obsessed a-are two different th-things,” Bill replies.

Stan doesn’t like this conversation at all. He’s not enjoying it one bit. Bill is ripping him open and squeezing his organs to get the truth from him, and he hates how much he loves him for it. There are layers to Stan and Bill is peeling them away with soft words and firm touches. He’s not doing it to hurt him, but it’s paining Stan to talk about this even a little.

“We’ve been together for too long for me to act like this,” he says mostly to himself.

“He’s an ocean away, Stan.” Bill sounds… upset. Maybe even a little angry. Stan can’t seem to understand what he’s trying to say. “Are you worried?”

“No.” He’s surprised by how much he means that.

Bill goes silent, but doesn’t push him away. Stan has always been like this, always shoving down emotions that are too complex to understand. He’ll stomp out his own anger if he needs to, but it floods back up and suddenly he’s a burning flame of spiteful words and deadly glares. It’s not healthy, but he’s come a long way. Sure, he still keeps most of his opinions to himself and won’t admit he feels certain ways, but before that he’d ignore most of his emotions completely.

“Are you scared?”

_ No _ . “Yes.”

And Bill leaves it at that because he knows. Stan isn’t scared Richie will get himself into trouble, he’s scared of admitting he genuinely, actually cares about him. Richie knows Stan loves him. Stan knows he loves Richie, but the concept of letting an emotion like longing pour out of him feels like he’s exposing himself in all his naked glory.

Bill knows this and hugs him tighter.

“It’s okay to miss Richie,” he repeats. “It’s not obsessive, Stan, it’s just l-love.”

And because he doesn’t want to dig himself a deeper hole, Stan just mumbles his agreement and changes the subject.

“Writer’s block?” Bill groans dramatically, lets one arm move from around Stan, and slaps his laptop with a large hand. Stan sits on this thigh and throws an arm over the other man’s shoulder. “That bad?”

“So bad.”

“What’s it supposed to be about?”

“I don’t f-fucking know,” Bill laughs. “It’s due in like t-two days.”

“Bill.”

“I work great under p-pressure.”

“Bill.”

“So great.”

Stan laughs and pushes Bill’s face away when he makes his “oh God I am so in love with you” eyes at him. He turns his head back and pecks Stan on the lips, mouth barely containing a smile.

Stan cups his face with his free hand (“I only have two, how am I supposed to hold everyone’s hand now,” Stan said, drunk and near tears about it one night) and kisses Bill slowly. There’s a shift, like an audible gear clicking into its rightful place and Bill is tugging Stan’s bottom lip into his mouth.

Stan slides his arm along Bill’s broad shoulders and sets his hand on his neck. Bill makes a noise of content when Stan’s fingers twitch along his skin.

“I’ve missed you,” Stan whispered into his mouth.

Bill kisses the seam of his mouth, a soft laugh touching Stan’s face. “I’ve been right h-here.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, William,” he deadpans. Bill continues mouthing along his jaw, molding his lips against his neck. “I was talking to your dick.”

Bill backs up to stare at Stan incredulously. Stan continues staring at him with a blank expression, but he can feel himself begin to laugh. Bill rubs circles into his waist and pulls him in, so Stan shifts until he’s straddling Bill in the chair.

“I mean, I  _ guess _ the person it’s attached to is cute, too,” he says. Stan cups his face and properly bends down to kiss him long and slow. He shivers when Bill tilts his head to slot their mouths together.

If someone were to watch Bill and Stan have sex, one would think it’s like watching two lovers reunite after being apart from each other for years. They always move slowly as if they’re getting reacquainted with the other’s expanse of skin. Stan can’t count on his fingers alone how many times Bill has worshipped his body in its most intimate form until Stan is begging him to fuck him. There has always been an underlying desperation to the way they make love. The need to taste each other, grasp and grope onto the other like they’re trying to leave their handprints. Perhaps they just never want the other to forget what it’s like to be loved, but it never really matters in the end. Stan is sure he would never be able to forget Bill or Richie or Eddie.

Stan pulls away from Bill reluctantly and climbs from his lap. There’s a moment where they just stare at each other before Bill stands up and walks to the bed and takes a seat. Stan watches this, an unmoving force of nature who is easily tempted, but not easy to give in. He pushes Bill onto his back and straddled him. Bill’s hands find their way around his hips and rest there, a firm and erotic reminder that Bill Denbrough is bigger than him.

Stan starts with Bill’s shirt. It’s ugly and patterned and doesn’t matter in this moment because it’s what lies underneath the clothes that matter. He pushes each button loose with one hand, skinny fingers proding into each buttonhole expertly. When he finally finishes being a show off, Bill sits up and slips the shirt from his shoulders and throws it behind them. Stan kisses him the moment he’s in his range, coaxing Bill’s beautiful mouth open so he can slip his tongue between his teeth.

Bill wraps an arm around Stan’s middle and kisses him harder. Stan pushes up to his knees so he towers over Bill and rips his shirt off, barely sparing a glance to wear it’ll land. He’s sloppy when he’s horny. It’s a trait they all noticed and adored.

Stan can’t get the friction he wants in this position, but that doesn’t stop his hips from canting forward into nothing. Bill pops his fly open and yanks Stan’s jeans down to his thighs. The fabric is rough on his skin and Bill can hear his breath hitch. Oh, how Stan tested the limits of being treated roughly and being treated like a common street whore. It’s a line he sometimes tipped over too much.

Bill begins kissing Stan’s jaw, moving his lips along his neck and shoulder. Stan sighs happily, letting his head fall back so Bill can cover it in open mouthed kisses. Bill bites down on Stan’s shoulder and he whispers a curse. He continues down until he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth and Stan makes an angelic noise. His hips are rolling shallowly and Bill can feel himself losing what little control he has left over this whole situation. 

He rolls the pink bud between his teeth. Stan arches into it and tugs on Bill’s hair. He presses Stan close enough into him that it takes no time at all to flip them over. Stan gasps, but Bill can see how his eyes get darker and his breaths get headier. There’s no doubt his cock’s harder too.

Bill continues down, leaving wet kisses in his wake. He bites down on the spot just above Stan’s navel that makes him shudder.

Stan says his name and Bill outright ignores him, something he’s good at when he knows what Stan is going to ask. Really he should know by now Bill would never make this move faster than it was. It’ll take more than a few breathless moans and an arched back to make him snap.

He continues by ridding Stan of his jeans and underwear, kissing the top of each thigh. He mouths along his knees and calves, even kissing the tops of his feet. Bill pulls one of Stan’s toes into his mouth, firmly sucks it once, and lays it on his broad shoulder.

Stan’s got his hands gripping the sheets and flushing red with every passing moment. He watches Bill lean down and Stan spreads his legs wider to welcome him. Bill breathes along his hip, his mouth close to where Stan really wants him. He kisses the warm skin and backs away to search his drawer for a bottle of lube (for how many they have around the house it’s surprisingly hard to keep up with them).

Bill uncaps the bottle and spreads the clear gel along his fingers. He’d admitted to Stan wholeheartedly that fingering him is almost as good as fucking him. There’s just something about watching Stan absolutely fall apart at someone’s fingertips that makes shoving three fingers in his ass worth the wait.

Bill circles his middle finger around Stan’s hole and pushes in with little to no resistance, making his dick jump. Bill thought Stan would finger himself before they had sex, you know just to be sexy, but the truth is Stan just basks in it. He’s got a thing for hands, that Stan Uris, and it shows itself in its purest form when he’s been fingered.

Stan lets out a shuddering breath as Bill thrusts the digit in slowly. He traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a little crease in his forehead telling Bill he’s close to where he wants him.

Bill watches his face as he crooks his finger just a bit and pushes the pad of his finger into his walls. Stan’s hips jump and he breathes out, “Yeah.”

Bill continues in the spot until Stan is restless and his body is welcoming another finger. His index slips between his asscheeks and spreads them apart east to west and north to south.

“Fuck,” Stan whispers, planting his foot on the bed and tilting himself up to give him more access. His dick is leaking precome onto his stomach, but Bill leaves it alone. He knows Stan can come without being touched with the right motivation. Bill keeps the fingers spread as he picks up speed and Stan’s back bows. He breathes in deep through his nose and waits.

Bill lets him hold his breath for a moment to get his thoughts settled.

“Breathe.” And Stan exhales smoothly. “Good boy.”

Stan practically purrs at the praise. He likes that, likes knowing he did good for Bill. It’s something Bill enjoys exploiting quite frequently.

Bill adds his third and final finger, gripping Stan’s thigh with his dry hand and pushes in deep and hard.

“Bill.” Stan has come alive beneath him, rolling his hips onto Bill’s hand to get his fingers deeper, whining and moaning. He’s losing himself in Bill and he swears he might go crazy — no he  _ will _ go crazy — if Bill doesn’t get inside him or touch him or do something.

“You wanna b-be a good boy for m-me,” Bill asks, stilling his fingers. They sit inside his ass like an unbearable weight for what’s next. Stan wants Bill to fuck him hard and soft, rough and loving. He wants it all and knows Bill will give it to him.

Stan swallows with a click and nods. 

“Don’t move.” Like Stan would ever think of disobeying Bill when he knows he’ll be praised. Bill takes out his fingers and Stan watches him strip out his own jeans and underwear. He pushes more lube into his palm and spreads it along his shaft and head. Stan watches this with still silence.

Bill settles back between his legs and bends down to kiss Stan’s mouth. Stan opens up easily, winding his arms around Bill’s neck and sighing happily into it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bill mumbles into his mouth between kisses. “My b-beautiful Stan.”

Stan feels shivers wrack through him from his head down to his toes. He holds Bill close as he pushes into him, stopping only when he’s at the hilt.

Bill tucks his face into Stan’s neck like he’s a child, a very innocent thing in a very uninnocent act. Stan has always loved that little charm about Bill, how he seems younger the older he gets.

It only takes a few moments for Bill’s hips to start thrusting rhythmically into Stan. He’s slow and careful, tuning his ears into every noise that escapes Stan’s mouth. Stan wants to beg Bill to fuck him harder, make him cum so fast his eyes roll back, but they both know that’s not what he needs right now. What Stan needs is love to edge away this emotional obstacle. 

Stan’s dick is trapped between their bodies, Bill’s stomach sliding along its shaft and bringing shocks of pleasure to his spine. He bends his hips up to get closer and throws his head back when Bill fucks into him just right.

In moments like this, Stan can’t bring his mouth to form words around it. He just grunts and moans like he’s just running on his primal brain and hopes Bill just knows. And Bill always knows.

He sinks his nails into Bill’s shoulders, enjoying the pained hiss that came from him. Stan leaves barely there kisses on his neck and keeps rolling his body to meet Bill in the middle. They’re rocking together in sync, pushing and pulling, giving and taking. Stan feels like his entire body has been engulfed by flames and there’s nothing he can do to put out the fire. 

There’s a frantic way about them that means they know they’re trying to satisfy the other. Bill is adding pressure to it, grinding his hips into Stan’s ass a bit harder every time he fucks him deep. Stan has his hands trailing down Bill’s back, nails clutching his skin, his body arching into him as if they’re attempting to fuse. 

It’s so good, feels so good Stan can’t bring himself to say it. He can feel that cold flush over his body telling him he’s going to come and he starts grappling at Bill’s arms, ass, thighs, anything to get him deeper inside him.

“Close,” Bill asks into his ear. His voice is rasped and rough. He kisses Stan’s ear, his cheekbone, and claims his mouth lovingly.

Stan slides his hands along Bill’s back, fingers dipping and moving along the muscle and bone. They don’t call him Big Bill for nothing. He settles them on the nape of his neck and guides Bill’s mouth so Stan can glide his tongue over and under and into his mouth.

Stan grabs a handful of Bill’s silky locks and tugs hard enough to get a reaction. Bill snaps his hips forward and Stan gasps.

“Please,” he begs softly.

Bill grips his thigh and thrusts hard into Stan’s heat. Stan outright moans and Bill knows that when this is over he’ll feel it in a few hours, but it’s a welcomed throb.

Stan has an arm hooked around Bill’s neck and his other hand on his ass to find some kind of grounding.

“Fuck, oh fuck fuck  _ fuck _ ,” Stan gasps into Bill’s mouth. “Come. Shit, Bill, I’m gonna fucking come.”

Bill nods. Not because he understands, but because he’s close too.

It’s never romantic to come at the same time your partner does. Stan likes watching Bill’s neck strain when he comes, likes the way Richie cusses and huffs and likes the way Eddie bends and whines.

Stan’s climax doesn’t burst through him like a broken dam where he can feel it building and building and topple. Stan thinks of it as if he’s been thrown off a cliff with no information of being involved in the action beforehand.

He comes with a surprised cry, holding Bill close when comes as well, shuddering as he feels hot liquid shoot inside him. 

Bill lays down on top of him and Stan rubs his back. They take too long to get up and shower, but they do at some point.

Stan wears Bill’s ugly shirt and a pair of his boxers (because Stan will only wear his own clothes for show). He denies every claim of being a thief for any missing piece of clothing Bill is missing.

Bill wears a pair of sweatpants without boxers or a clean shirt.

“You three keep s-stealing my underwear.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bill’s writer’s block passes. Stan only knows this because when he approaches the door with two bottles of water, he’s furiously typing away on his computer.

Stan sits a bottled water on the desk and kisses his temple. Bill barely spares him a glance, but he smiles and that’s enough for Stan to know he grateful for it.

He goes to his room and sits on his bed. His phone is there too, sitting in his hands. Stan sighs and puts his thumb print in and searches Richie’s name in his contact. He was just going to text him, but Stan finds his traitorous thumb pressing the FaceTime button.

_ Shit, fuck, mothershitfucker _ . It rings once, twice and Richie’s big dumb face is taking up all the space on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, all casual because Richie could do it like that. He was obviously asleep, his glasses weren’t on and he was squinting at his screen like it offended him and his hair was a whirlpool of curls. Stan thought he looked so beautiful.

“Hey,” he said and flopped back on his bed. “I missed you.”

Richie smiled tiredly at his phone. “Yeah?” Stan nodded. “I miss you, too. You’re blue jay told me you were struggling.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Damn Bill Denbrough and emotional support to hell. He smiled though. Richie calling Bill his blue jay really made his heart do flips. “Yeah, well, I’m a big dummy and I overreacted.”

“You are a big dummy and you did overreact,” Richie agrees. Stan gives him the finger. “I know you, Stanley.”

And that’s all Stan really needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re horny on main, be horny on my main
> 
> I’m on tumblr @literatureandshit


	3. Feel it Still - Portugal. The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, well,” she starts. “Shit. Man, look, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”
> 
> “Tell me what,” Eddie asks slowly. What the hell has Richie done now? It couldn’t have been worse than last year when he walked around all day with a trash can on his head and asked people to look him in the eye when they couldn’t because they were laughing so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me keeping things PG-13 😌 This is short and sweet and stupid and makes no sense, just like most of the things I write.

“You’re Eddie Kaspbrak, right?”

And that’s how it started. Eddie didn’t know who she was exactly, just that he had a few classes with her and he’s seen her come out the same classes Bill attended.

Eddie was done with his schedule for the day. He was going to his boyfriends’ house right after to study with Stan. Actually study this time, not stare at the same page for fifteen minutes before they both give up and have an intense make out session instead.

Anyway, Eddie doesn’t know this girl and doesn’t know why she’s talking to him.

“You’re Eddie,” she asks again. She looks upset about something, so Eddie answers.

“Yeah.”

She closes her eyes for a moment and when she opens them, there’s a look of pity and rage. Eddie still doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Um… sure. What is it?”

She shakes her head. Eddie still doesn’t know her name. She probably won’t tell him and he’s not going to ask for it. “Let me buy you some coffee or something.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to do, so he just agrees and she leads them to the closest Starbucks on their campus. It’s packed with students as always, but they get their drinks in an orderly amount of time.

The moment he sits down, she throws the question out in rapid fire. “You’re dating Richie Tozier, right?”

Eddie takes a sip and nods. The coffee isn’t good. Eddie doesn’t really like Starbucks.

“Okay, well,” she starts. “Shit. Man, look, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

“Tell me what,” Eddie asks slowly. What the hell has Richie done now? It couldn’t have been worse than last year when he walked around all day with a trash can on his head and asked people to look him in the eye when they couldn’t because they were laughing so hard.

“It’s just I’ve noticed some suspicious shit with him, you know? Like I knew him and Bill were friends or whatever, but I just—” she cuts herself off and takes a deep breath through her nose. “I saw them together.”

Eddie lifts a brow. Richie and Bill are together all the time, usually doing something stupid. It’s not uncommon to see them so close.

“Okay let me start from the beginning.” Fucking fantastic, it’s story time apparently and Eddie already knows what she’s thinking, but he plays along only because he doesn’t want to embarrass her in a room full of millennials at Starbucks. “I was walking with a few of my friends when I saw Richie. He was on his phone or something. It’s not important. So I thought ‘oh, hey, he must be waiting on Eddie’ and I didn’t really think anything of it. And then Bill Denbrough walks up and they start talking and Richie gets all close to him and says something and then Bill turns red.” 

She pauses to let that sink in. Eddie stares at her and recalls a few days ago when Richie texted their group chat he and Bill were going to have a date night.

Eddie presses his lips together in an attempt not to smile. It works, and the girl continues.

“But the worst part is when Richie just kisses him, lays one right on him, in broad fucking daylight. Like dude, you have a boyfriend, what the fuck? So I get shitty and I’m about to say something, but I thought I should come to you directly so you don’t find out through Snapchat or something, you know?” 

She says “whatever” and “something” and “you know” so much Eddie thinks his head will spin. He bites his bottom lip and the action makes his eyes well with tears. She mistakes it for sadness and grabs his hand to comfort him.

“I’m sorry, but I just needed to tell you. Richie’s a total dick, Eddie. I just wanted you to at least know who you’re in a relationship with.”

He can appreciate that, the fact that she cares about him even though she doesn’t know him. Eddie can get behind that. He just nods and she holds his hand a little longer before just leaving him by himself. She scurries away and Eddie knows she’s going to tell people she’s Sherlock fucking Holmes and she’s just helped someone get out of a terrible relationship.

The moment she’s gone he texts Richie.

Eddie:  _ hey Richie are you cheating on me with Bill _

Ricardo:  _ oh yeah 100% im surprised you didn’t know _

Eddie smiles at his phone and heads to his boyfriends’ house anyway.

+

Richie answers the door when he gets there. Stan and Bill are still in class and won’t be out until later.

“I can’t believe you’re cheating on me,” Eddie deadpans.

“And I can't believe it’s not butter.”

Richie lets him in (but not before he makes him give Richie the password, which just so happens to be giving him a kiss) and Eddie recounts the interaction between the girl and Starbucks.

“You don’t even like Starbucks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Is that all you got out of this?”

Richie shrugged. “I just feel like you’re more of a local café kind of guy. Nestlé Toll House maybe.”

“Richie.”

“Perhaps homemade coffee at home.”

“Richard.”

“What?” He throws his hands in the air. “Can’t you see I’m trying to figure out what coffee place is your favorite right now?”

Eddie has the urge to punch him or kiss him. Sometimes he can’t tell. Richie makes him feel so much rage and lust at the same time he gets them a little confused.

He stares at him and feels his face crack into a smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Okay, but you’re literally smiling.”

“Out of pity.”

“Pity has never looked so good.”

And Eddie really punches him.

+

“Can someone tell me why I-I’m getting dirty looks f-from people I don’t even k-know?”

Richie and Stan don’t look up from the puzzle they’re working on and Eddie continues playing a video game on his phone.

“So no one is gonna answer me?”

Stan speaks up first. “We aren’t liable to speak to you until we each get a kiss.”

Eddie and Richie both look up at him to nod seriously. Bill looks pained to be in a relationship with them, but accepts his fate. He kisses them each on the forehead.

“Everyone thinks I’m cheating on Eddie with you,” Richie says immediately, sending Stan into hysterics. Eddie hides his face with his phone, but can’t hide the smile creeping up on him.

Bill looks shocked and then he’s laughing too because this whole situation is just hilarious for them. Stan finds it the funniest for some reason, giggling and clutching at his sides.

“You’re ki-kidding,” Bill says through chuckles.

Eddie shakes his head and that sends them all into another fit of laughter. Bill takes a seat on the couch and throws an arm casually around Eddie’s shoulder. He leans into it so his entire side is pressed up against Bill’s.

It had only been a day, but word travels fast when young adults are bored and reckless.

“M-my entire class gave me death g-glares,” Bill says after they’ve calmed down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say to her.” Eddie looks at him apologetically, but there’s an amused twinkle in his eyes. He’s thoroughly enjoying this.

“Eddie made some random girl look like a clown without her knowing,” Richie exclaims. It makes Stan lay on his side and crack up silently. There’s an occasional gasp to let them all know he didn’t really die laughing.

Eddie glares at Richie before turning back to Bill and his face softens. “She was so concerned about it, I just kind of let it happen.”

Bill squeezes his shoulder lovingly and kisses his cheek. Eddie really enjoyed Bill’s bits of affection. “‘S okay. They’ll f-figure it out one day.”

Richie and Stan finish their puzzle and shove it off to the side. Stan grabs another box and it says it has four thousand pieces. He dumps it on the floor and insist they all contribute to this puzzle.

So they turn on Netflix and let Bob Ross play in the background while they attempt to put together a four thousand piece puzzle about birds.

Richie ends up sitting on one of the pieces, Bill and Eddie throw parts of a bird at each other and Stan happily ignores them all. It’s the ideal relationship.

Not that other people knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could make this longer. I could not. I’m also super bad at trying to make Richie’s humor seem genuine to him. I have a really dry sense of humor so I’m struggling a little to really capture his funniness (is that a word lol who gives a shit)


	4. Something in Your Eyes- Bell Biv DeVoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opens the door and is greeted with Mike laying in the middle of the floor, hands behind his head, phone laying on his stomach, feet and head bobbing gently to the music he’s listening to. Stan feels some anxiety peel away. It feels familiar, walking in on a boyfriend listening to music. Stan kicks are Mike’s foot. Mike smiles at him when he cracks open his eyes. He takes out a headphone and sits up on his elbows.
> 
> “Hey, what’s up?” Mike’s smile really lit up rooms. He was so popular and funny and kind. The last thing Stan wants to do is break his heart. Unfortunately, he might.
> 
> “Hi, can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I finally finished this monster LMAOOOO
> 
> So with the quarentine going on, I finally got to finishing this and I’m so sorry this took me so long I really am :(  
> BUT IT GOT DONE
> 
> I debated a lot with this fic, being black and writing Mike Hanlon can become smth so personal to me. I love him so much oh my god okay anyways lmaoooo
> 
> I do don’t beta reads bc some of these are so long but I do try to minimize mistakes :/ I usually catch them AFTER I’ve posted but whatever
> 
> Have fun reading, loves
> 
> OH PS!!!!  
> I know my writing is a little confusing (I have a tendency to mix up POV changes and time changes) so + means POV change and - means time change. I know it’s stupid to point out, but sometimes I get in the zone and will just type whatever. OKAY BYE SORRY SORRY

Mike Hanlon was a good man.

He did his homework and always helped other students in case they needed it. He was one of the best quarterbacks to play college football. Mike was ideal to people because he was a good man and he could get any woman (or man) he wanted. 

Mike was a sweet and passionate lover, always putting their needs before his own. He bought them flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day, made sure to be the most romantic person they’d ever been with. He made sure they never fought over anything ridiculous like where they’re going to get dinner or if Mike was feeling lonely because they’d run out of love for him.

It wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be, always telling Mike there’s plenty of people out there who wouldn’t treat him the way so many people do. But Mike knew what he wanted,  _ who  _ he wanted, but that all gets uprooted by four random white guys.

Mike Hanlon isn’t stupid, but why he chose to give Stanley Uris his hungry eyes is unknown to him.

Stan was an odd man. He only smiled at people who deserved it, which wasn’t many people at all. His voice was smooth and light, like ocean foam, and his eyes were focused and round and reminded him of the sky on summer days.

He was in love with Stan Uris and no matter how many lovers Mike took, they could never be on his level.

+

“C’mon, Eddie, ponte en mi espalda,” Richie said, crouching down in front of the smaller man.

Eddie sidestepped him and walked closer to Bill, who was talking to Stan.

“You’re not giving me a piggyback ride, Rich.”

“But it’ll make you taller.”

Bill choked and Eddie turned to shoot him a glare. Stan smiled delightedly. Short jokes about Eddie really tickled him.

“I’m gonna punch you,” Eddie says before stomping to Richie and punching him.

Richie was so used to it he just let it happen and looked down at Eddie with the fondest eyes. Eddie gives him  _ that  _ look, the look that says “God, I love you so much it’s disgusting”. They did that a lot. It was a high energy relationship on its own, constant back and forth bickering and arguing between them. It looked unhealthy on the outside eye. 

“Why are you together if all you do is argue,” someone asked Richie after he and Eddie had a heated debate over whether curly fries were better than waffle fries in a restaurant. They ended up getting kicked out (for the second time, might Stan add).

“Because he isn’t the only person I’m with,” Richie told them simply, like that made all the sense in the world. Eddie and Richie needed to find equilibrium and that was Bill and Stan.

Of course Richie and Eddie didn’t argue all the time. In fact, they got along better than most young adult relationships. They knew how to apologize when one went too far, and knew how to have a conversation without yelling. But where’s the fun in being normal? They yelled and argued because it was fun, not because there was a part of each other they hated.

Richie crouches back down and Eddie climbs onto his back like a little koala and the whole ordeal means nothing. Eddie has himself completely wrapped around the back of Richie, holding on tightly, when Richie breaks out in a full on run down the sidewalk. Eddie is screaming in terror and Richie is screaming in joy. Bill watches this happily and Stan watches Bill.

Which is really how this whole thing started; Stan staring at Bill like the love-struck idiot he is.

Stan isn’t a big man. In fact, he’s a bit underweight some might say. Richie can almost wrap his hand around his entire thigh and Bill can cover his body with just his shadow. In elementary school, he was small and fragile, knees wobbling, elbows pointing like knives. Stan didn’t quite grow out of it, not like he wanted to. Instead he just fixed his posture, fixed his fashion and hoped it went away. He ate more, but his metabolism was just too fast. But hey, his boys love his skinny, lanky body and Stan does too.

But that doesn’t mean jack shit when men like Mike Hanlon come barreling towards them with a football.

Now Stan doesn’t have a problem with Mike Hanlon. He thinks he’s cute. He likes his eyes. They remind him of owls. Pretty and dark and wide with wonder. The only thing is this; Mike Hanlon is built like Richie but bulky due to sports. Richie is just large because he was large and that was Richie. No, Mike Hanlon worked hours upon days for his chisel and size.

Which is why it hurts like a motherfucker when he accidentally rams his entire weight into Stan while running from Victor Criss.

Stan is knocked to the ground haphazardly and he’s just staring at Mike like he’s never seen him before.

“Stan, are you okay,” Bill asks, kind of smiling but also kind of concerned.

Richie and Eddie are making their way back. And no, Stan can’t see them, he just knows because he can hear them yelling as they get gradually closer.

He continues staring at Mike, who continues to stare at him. He breaks out of it suddenly, scrambling up and spewing apologies. Mike grabs Stan by the elbow at some point, football thrown to the side, and yanks him up.

Oh.

Stan really shouldn’t have enjoyed that. He likes being manhandled, that’s no secret in his relationship. He likes it when Richie pins his hands above his head and slides his cock home, likes it when Eddie pushes him into walls and tables and chairs before they land on the floor somewhere and Eddie is riding him with his hand on the top of the couch and another on the bar stool.

“I am so sorry. Oh, man,  _ fuck,  _ I didn’t even see you, Stan. Honest.” Mike says and he sounds so sad and upset he just knocked him over that Stan can tangibly touch it.

“Jesus, Stan, you look like you just got f—”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Thank God for Eddie.

Victor Criss is here too, laughing his ass off. He’s really having a good one when he says, “Mike, you dumb fuck.”

Stan watches as Mike’s face heats up. He looks down at himself. His clothes are a bit wrinkled but he’s fine, really. He feels like he should be saying something.

Bill comes up behind him and wipes down his back and picks stray pebbles from his hair. Mike turns and looks at Stan, then at Bill, and back at Stan. He looks a little hurt. That’s a weird face to make when you just knocked down a person. He’ll have to talk about it with Bill later. No, perhaps Richie. He understands the mental mind better than anyone.

Mike searches for the football and finds it tossed somewhere in the grass. He picks it up and uses it as an excuse to not stare at any of them. Stan has the realization he hasn’t said anything this entire time, but it’s too late to make an attempt at conversation. He tries anyway.

“I’m okay,” he says and Mike jumps a little. Victor’s laughs are low chuckles now, but the fact that Stan can still hear him makes him want to punch him. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You sure,” Bill whispers, his hand now resting on the small of his back. Yeah, Stan is gonna suck his dick later. Just because he feels like it, just because he likes how big Bill is. They don’t call him Big Bill for nothing, now do they.

Stan nods at both Bill and Mike. Richie and Eddie are having their own silent conversation, probably about this. He’s not on his back anymore, which is a shame because Mike’s weight was welcomed. There’s a light burning sensation in his elbow. He’s scraped it. He’s not going to tell Eddie that he got hurt or else he’ll be thoroughly upset.

“Okay, well, thanks for attempting to kill Stanley,” Richie says.

“Richie,” Bill warns.

He looks at Bill and says, “I’m only joking, Billiam.”

“You’re gonna r-reach your word limit to-today,” Bill says in his fake angry voice.

“What,” Richie laughs happily. “I haven’t reached a word limit since I was twenty.”

Stan hears Eddie whisper, “you fucking need to” and he wants to laugh at how insane they all can be together. Mike apologizes again, and Stan tells him that really, he’s okay, it’s okay, he’s not hurt. Victor and Mike walk off and they go get the ice cream they originally planned on getting. 

While they’re making their way there, Stan’s thoughts shift to Mike and how everything about him was just so… what’s the word? Not big, not large.  _ Hard _ . A simple word. Hard. His chest was hard, his arms were hard, his thighs were hard and his body was just… hard.

Stan wondered if other parts of him were soft. Maybe his lips were soft and inviting like Bill’s. Perhaps his cock, when coated in a healthy amount of lube, was like heavy velvet like Eddie’s. It could be that his ass was round and plush like Richie’s.

Nope, this is definitely a conversation for them all.

+

“I have an announcement,” Stan says the moment they all step past the threshold.

Richie clumsily takes off his boots and kicks them carelessly to the floor, where Eddie (who had sat down on the floor to neatly take off his crocs and place them square against the wall) smacks his leg and makes him fix it. Bill does the same as Richie except he fixes them immediately after. He likes making Eddie happy.

Stan keeps his shoes on and waits until there aren't so many bodies blocking every empty space in their doorway.

Richie pads over to the kitchen to grab a beer, hands Bill and Eddie water bottles, and holds out one to Stan who’s located himself to the opposite side of the island where all his lovers stand.

“I have an announcement,” he says again.

“You’re gay,” Richie deadpans and almost chokes on his beer when Eddie slaps him upside the head.

“Beep beep, Rich.”

Stan gives Richie a hard look that turns soft when he looks at Bill. His face is serious and blank, unreadable. Stan taught him that. He’s glad he did or else he wouldn’t be able to do this.

“I’ve come to quite a realization today,” Stan starts. “And I want to know if it’s okay with you.” Although he’s looking at Bill when he says the last word, he means all of them. They all agree or it doesn’t happen or they find a compromise.

Richie looks laid back, but that only adds to the fact that he’s drumming with anxiety by how much he keeps tapping his fingers on his beer.

Eddie looks curious. Despite being a nervous wreck most of his life, Eddie is one of the calmer people in their relationship. He always waits to hear all the facts before having a mental crisis.

Stan takes in a deep breath and finds a way to word this without sounding ridiculous. He sighs out and says with determined eyes, “I want to fuck Mike Hanlon.”

+

It wasn’t as an embarrassing conversation as Stan had originally guessed. Richie laughs nervously and Bill and Eddie looked so lost in thought for a moment Stan didn’t think they’d answer him.

“You want to do the dirty deed with Hanlon?” Richie asks finally, in that smooth voice to ease Stan’s anxiety.

Stan nods.

Eddie furrows his brows and purses his lips (Stan really enjoys this expression on Eddie. It makes him look boy-ish).

They all talk about it for a long time, hours actually and move from room to room as they ready themselves for bed and other things. They discussed what they were going to do and who was going to do what. It was always a rule to let someone in their relationship pursue someone else at least once. They took this part of their relationship incredibly seriously, and with Eddie joining them, it wasn’t taken lightly when someone wanted to explore an unknown person.

But Mike wasn’t an unknown person. He was Mike Hanlon, the quarterback who got a full ride on his skills and grades. He was the kid who tutored others and asked for extra credit even if he didn’t need it. Mike was the guy you went to about any problem because he couldn’t fix it, but he could guide you to the solution.

And there was just something about those little traits that first attracted Stan to him.

So it wasn’t a sudden  _ oh, I want to fuck Mike Hanlon _ . It was gradual and subtle and worked its way in after years of ignoring it. Stan only has two classes with him, English 201 and College Trigonometry. He excels at both of these classes. His essays are professional with a “read between the lines” passive aggressiveness sprinkled in and he’s always getting extra pages of math homework to do so he knows he can wrap his mind around the concept. Mike likes to smile a lot and lift his right brow when he’s irritated with someone, a small thing Stan picked up on when he was  _ not  _ staring holes into his head one day. He’s either got too much anxiety or too much energy because his leg bounces incessantly, but no one says anything since it’s Mike fucking Hanlon.

Richie picked up on it first, the underlying energy Stan would have on certain weekdays when he came home and immediately crawled in his bed and kissed him hard. Those nights where Stan would sandwich himself between the large bodies of Bill and Richie and the lithe body of Eddie to ignore the creeping thought of Mike coming up. Stan didn’t think it was cheating or bad to think of someone else when he was with three other men, but he was feeling  _ something  _ for someone who wasn’t them. Anxiety? No. Trepidation is what he felt when he was thinking of Mike when he was with them. He always thought he’d have Bill and Richie for the rest of his days, but Eddie showed up and completely changed everything (for the better of course). 

Stan can feel himself becoming more and more anxious about this. They’ve transported themselves to his room at this point. Richie is wearing an old band shirt and sweatpants as he sits at the head of the bed, comfortably leaning on the headboard. Eddie is lying beside him pressing his face into his thigh with a plain white shirt and boxers. Bill is sitting in Stan’s desk chair while Stan makes an attempt to look casual by resting his hip on his dresser. It’s been about two hours since they’ve started this conversation. Bill is the most quiet while Eddie is more vocal.

“It sounds like you wanna date him,” Richie says sleepily. 

Eddie makes an affirmative noise in agreement. Stan nibbles on the inside of his lip. For a while he thought the feeling he got whenever he saw Mike was just pure physical attraction. There’s a lot to be desired in him; his amiable smile, the way he presses a hand into his chest when he laughs.

Stan actually considers it for a moment. He doesn’t doubt it. The thought of actually seeing Mike everyday, that pretty smile directed at him, is appealing. It’s scary. Stan knows that a quick fuck isn’t all he wants. “Yes, I suppose I want to date him.”

Eddie gives him a lazy thumbs up before flopping his arm to his side, whispering something like “go get’em, tiger”. He looks over at Bill then, and finds that Bill is still staring at him blankly. It sends Stan’s stomach into cramps and burns. A flush of cold rocks through him and Stan looks down at the wooden floors.

Richie is asleep at this point. His unit of a body is taking up more than too much bed space. Eddie is halfway there, curled up in his little fetal position. Stan lets them sleep there. With the conversation seemingly over and nothing else to discuss, Stan quietly leaves and heads to the kitchen. He hears Bill follow closely behind him.

In the kitchen, Stan grabs a bottle of water but doesn’t drink it. He twists the cap off and fiddles it around in his fingers. The bottle is freezing and makes his fingers twitch. Bill leans against the island, watching him with the same blank expression. It’s making Stan want to run and hide. If he squeezes the bottle and gets water everywhere they’d have something else to focus on.

“Why didn’t you t-tell me,” Bill asks.

Stan shrugs. He never really planned on telling anyone about it. He was just going to let the feelings drown him until he sank to the bottom of his emotions and it killed him. Stan isn’t very good at accepting he wants things for selfish reasons. The only thing he ever had to keep for himself is his birds and his sexuality, and even then he realized no one cared about his birds and Derry promised to kill gay people. It’s worrisome how big Stan is on the inside, but feels so small on the outside.

Bill says his name and Stan realizes he had just been standing there with the bottled water and staring at the scratched paint on the handle of a cabinet. He looks down at his hand and sees it’s covered in spilled water. Stan created a right fist around it and its cold insides puddled onto the floor. He kind of feels like that water right now.

He looks over at Bill to deal with this rush of… anger? frustration? God, what the hell is he feeling right now? Stan can’t put a word on it. Bill would know.

“What you’re f-feeling is altschmerz,” Bill tells him quietly, taking the crumpled plastic and dumping it in the trash. He comes back and envelopes Stan in a much needed embrace.

They stand like that for a long time, still as statues in their kitchen while their two other lovers sleep just down the hall. Stan enjoys the hand cupping his neck and the other rubbing gentle circles on his back.

“What does altschmerz mean?” He asks after they’ve stood there for more than too many minutes.

“It means you’re tired of the same old fl-flaws and anxieties you already h-have,” Bill replies confidently.

And, as always, he was right. Stan was very tired of freezing up for just a millisecond before saying he loved someone. He hates how his knees still buckle slightly when he walks. He doesn’t like it when Eddie stares at him too long because Eddie Kaspbrak can see the real you if he watches you long enough.

“You’re also frustrated,” Bill says. “You’ve always s-said you don’t want things only because you t-think you want too much. But g-guess what?”

Stan crinkles his nose. “What?”

“No matter w-what you asked of us, we’d give it to y-you.”

_ So if I asked you to shoot yourself in the foot for my love, would you do it?  _ Stan can already hear Bill say “yes”.

_ What if I told you I’m not what you think I am? Would you love me then? _ Stan can hear Richie asking “why wouldn’t I?”

_ I hate everything about myself some days and I’m shit at expressing who I am because I think I’m boring.  _ And Eddie, the most exciting person Stan knows, would tell him, “we all feel that way some days, Stan, and that’s okay.”

“So if I wanted the moon?”

He could hear Bill smile and feel his laugh in his hair. “Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

Bill kisses the crown of his head and holds Stan tightly as they sleep that night.

+

Bill isn’t there when Stan wakes up, which isn’t unusual, but still makes him sad. It’s Wednesday. He has classes, but he really doesn’t feel like going.

Stan gropes his hand around the floor to find his jeans. They’re empty. He slaps the hand on Bill’s nightstand instead and finds his phone charging there. It’s only ten in the morning. Bill must have left out almost two hours ago. Stan smacks himself mentally for not being able to see a naked Bill Denbrough fresh out the shower.

He takes one himself, letting last night’s conversation wash over him. Stan sometimes dreamt of this moment, being able to just walk up to Mike and ask him out on a date. Now that it’s happening, Stan is drawing blanks. Would it be too odd for him to just talk to him? It’s not like Stan has never spoken to Mike before. They’re polite and friendly, but never really past that. Then again, Stan has the social understanding of a neonate.

He puts on a shirt that he thinks belongs to Richie, has the cleanliness of Bill, but smells faintly like Eddie.

Speaking of Eddie. He doesn’t have classes until one today.

Stan finds him buried under blankets in his room. The only thing sticking out is the curled ends of his dark hair. There’s strands of blond mixed in after Richie dyed his hair for no other reason than he wanted to. Stan refused to tell Eddie seeing him with blond hair made him want to tug it and do the absolute, most vulgar things to him.

Stan moves to sit on the edge of the bed and watch Eddie sleep. He looks the most peaceful in this state, completely relaxed and vulnerable. His hands are in tight little fists close to his chest. Stan doesn’t even need to see the rest of his body to know he’s coiled himself into a crescent.

Stan reaches out to push the hair from his face. The action stirs Eddie awake and his owlish stare tiredly at Stan.

“G’morning,” Eddie says between a stretch and a groan.

“Morning.” Stan scratches his nails gently along Eddie’s scalp and files away his content sigh to think about later. “Where’s Richie?”

Eddie sits up and stretches again. His back arches in a soft curve. The angle of the window to the bed shines through Stan’s curtains and halos around his head. His hair has become another version of Richie’s, but much less dense. It frames his lovely face with strands of curls sticking to his cheeks and forehead. His face was kind of red, his eyes puffy and lips in a permanent pout.

Eddie Kaspbrak really was beautiful.

“Said he’s out getting food, but you know how he is.”

Stan’s hand was still in his hair and Eddie leaned into it. He was staring off into the distance, probably trying to wake up. Eddie wasn’t a morning person. It could take him up to an hour to fully function or have a thought process. He just zombies around the house until then.

He makes a noise in confirmation and leans in to press his mouth to Eddie’s. It’s no surprise to him when he crinkles his nose in disgust and turns his head away. Stan finds this look on morning Eddie to be very cute.

“Stan, morning breath.”

“I already brushed my teeth, though,” Stan replies, leaning in closer. 

He drags his nails along Eddie’s head again. His head falls back against his shoulders and rolls comfortably towards Stan. He ghosts his lips along the column of his throat and pushes into his chin, tilting his head up. A more lucid Eddie would put up a bit more of a fight, but the best way to get a completely woken up Eddie is to make his brain restart.

“Just one?” Eddie asks, not sounding like he’s going to settle for one at all.

“You know what they say,” Stan smiles. “A kiss from Eddie a day keeps the doctors away.”

Eddie snorts, but doesn’t deny it. His eyes flutter open and Stan thinks he might die if he keeps staring at him like that.

Stan pushes himself up with his free hand and molds his mouth with Eddie’s pouty lips. The response he gets makes Stan’s stomach feel hot. Eddie parts his mouth, letting Stan deepen it. It’s tame for them. Kissing Eddie always felt like Stan was on fire from his toes to his fingers. Making out or having sex with Eddie were on two significantly different levels from just kissing him. It’s almost as if he crawls inside you, and even hours after it’s happened, you can still feel there.

Eddie has his hands on Stan’s shoulders now, kissing him slowly while the morning shifts to the afternoon. Stan removes the hand from his hair and pushes him into Richie’s bed. He presses his tongue into Eddie’s bottom lip and he opens his mouth to Stan, slipping his own into his.

Stan scoots closer to lean down and uses his left arm as leverage to kiss Eddie harder. His right arm travels down over the faded white shirt and Stan pushes the hem up to feel out Eddie’s skin with his hand. He hears him take a sharp breath in as Stan lets his fingers guide him, mapping the lithe and brawny body below him.

“Stan,” Eddie whispers into his mouth. His nails are digging into his shoulders. Stan knows there will be red violent crescents for hours.

Stan presses his palm flat to Eddie’s stomach, feeling up his chest, until he can sense the erect pink bud of his nipple below his own hand. Eddie gasps and his legs spread as his hips roll up. Stan breaks apart from him. Eddie chases his mouth with a whine.

Stan rubs Eddie’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, filing away his soft moans and determined touches for anytime he feels bored in class (remembering intimate moments at the wrong time and place was Stan’s specialty). He adjusts himself to get in a more comfortable position and swipes his tongue over it. Eddie moves his hands from Stan’s shoulders to his hair, burying them deep in the light brown locks.

Eddie has an incredibly sensitive body. Just running your hand up his thigh absently will have him antsy and bothered. Whenever he would come to the house after his morning run, Richie would shove his hand between his thighs and have him on the edge of coming within seconds. There have been only a handful of times he’s come with just stimulation from his nipples and a little friction from his own doing, and Bill played a role in all of those.

Although Stan can’t do the same exact thing, he can give Eddie something close to it.

Stan licks and twists his tongue over the pink bud again before sucking it into his mouth. Eddie is writhing beneath him now, making little noises of pleasure and rocking himself up.

“Oh God,” Eddie breathes out. “Stan, please. I need it.”

Stan pulls away from the abused nipple and presses the pad of his thumb into it, creating little circles. It makes Eddie push his head into the pillow and bite his lip.

Stan leads his hand down until it’s breaching the boxer briefs and wrapping around the hardening length of Eddie’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in his hand as he strokes it to the tip. Eddie finally moans loud enough for it to bounce off the walls. Stan thoroughly ignores his own growing erection and is straining in his pants in favor of getting Eddie off instead.

The slide is too rough so Stan brings his hand to Eddie’s mouth and he licks its palm. It’s dirty, probably sweaty and musky, but Eddie’s been doing well with learning what’s dirty and what’s  _ dirty _ . Doing things like sucking dick, having sex in the faculty bathroom, or swallowing come is  _ dirty _ . Eating food after it’s been on the floor, children eating their boogers, or not showering for a week and a half is dirty. He just needed to learn the difference.

Stan continues stroking him from base to tip, twisting his wrist so he can use the heel of his palm to create added pressure. Eddie’s body thrums and his hips jump up.

“Oh,  _ shit _ .” Eddie slams a hand into the headboard and fucks into Stan’s tight fist while he rhythmically gets him off.

Stan crushes their mouths together, swallowing Eddie’s desperate sounds of pleasure. Eddie has his feet planted into the bed, strained gasps escaping him whenever Stan squeezes the head and slides back down in a firm hold.

Stan pulls away and looks down to where his hand is disappearing into the darkness of his briefs. There’s a pool of precome forming on Eddie’s stomach and Stan uses it for an easier slide. Eddie cries out and throws his head back, spine arching off the bed, as Stan watches his movements take him apart. Stan traps his lip between his teeth. Eddie’s legs spread farther apart when he lightly touches his balls. Stan wants to taste him, feel the glide of his dick along his tongue. But he’s in a rush this morning and as much as he wants to suck Eddie off, he doesn’t want that to be rushed.

“‘M gonna come.” Stan keeps the heel of his hand pressed slightly into his dick as he gets him off. Eddie whines high in his throat and his chest stutters with breath.

He comes with his back bent and his lip bitten till it’s cherry red. It lands on his stomach and Stan’s hand. Stan goes to the bathroom and thoroughly washes his hands. He also grabs a hand towel to clean off Eddie, who is also looking at him angrily.

“What,” Stan asks when he gets back from tossing the towel in a basket. His erection is still pressing hard against his jeans, but it’ll go down in a few minutes. Stan has an hour before he goes to English Literature with Mike. Plenty of time to not look like a hormonal idiot.

“You’re a dick.”

Stan snorts. “What did I do?”

Eddie is staring at him too closely, so Stan cards his fingers through his hair again. It’s becoming an addiction, the need to pet Eddie on top of his head. It’s not like he’s an animal, but his hair is soft and silky.

Eddie puts his gaze on Stan’s bottom half instead and frowns.

“You’re still hard.”

Stan shrugs. “It’ll go down.”

Eddie looks back up at him with those shiny brown eyes and Stan has the urge to tell him he loves him. He waits too long, though, and the moment passes him by.

“You sure you don’t want me to…” he trails off.

Stan shakes his head. He can deal with blue balls for a few hours.

“You can do me a favor though.”

Eddie is immediately suspicious, as always whenever Stan asks anyone in their relationship to “do him a favor”. It gives him so much amusement to know this.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds longer. Stan puts on his most innocent face because what he’s about to ask is definitely  _ not _ innocent.

“Send me a video—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

Eddie shakes his head, but he’s kind of smiling, which means he’s thinking about it.

“Go to class, Stan.”

Stan sighs dramatically. Now where is he going to get his emotional support? He can’t handle serious feelings on his own.

He’s finally leaving the house when Richie comes back with groceries. He kisses Stan on his way out and he can’t stop smiling as he walks to class.

+

Stan walks through the door five minutes before class actually starts. His professor is at the podium as the rest of the people in his class talk. He avoids making any noise to stay hidden, but one girl sees him from the corner of her eye and gives him a dirty look. Stan ignores it in favor of looking down at his shoes as he begins to take at his desk in the back of the classroom.

“Actually, Stanley, could you sit closer today,” his professor asks him in a monotone voice.

Stan tenses and so much shit runs through his mind it actually makes him a little nauseous. He pushes the chair back in and looks up to see what desk is close enough to the other students that his teacher won’t say anything, but far enough away to isolate himself.

There’s one two desks away from where Mike sits (Stan would take another, but people sit there). Thankfully, Mike hasn’t stepped through the door yet and Stan sits in the desk he deemed appealing enough for both parties to benefit.

Mike walks in a couple minutes after everyone has gotten done glaring knives into Stan’s head and whispering about him. He’s as cheery as always, and when he sees Stan sitting a little closer, he completely lights up.

Mike takes a seat and everyone surrounds him like the magnet he is. He plays his role of star quarterback elegantly, smiling and waving and doing those annoyingly long handshakes all jocks do. Then he leans over, turns to Stan and says, “Hi.”

Fuck, what are words? Stan, say something. God, where the hell is Bill when he needs him? Stan stares at him for what seems like forever. People are staring, he just knows it. They’re glaring at Stan and Mike (mostly Stan). People look disgusted. Some are texting away on their phones and snorting or holding in out right laughter. They’re most likely insults about him.

“Uh… hey,” Stan actually almost squeaks out. Being an introvert isn’t what’s making him such an idiot. It’s the people, their rumors, their stares.

Mike doesn’t seem to notice and keeps talking. Everyone else, but not the girl from before, turns away and pretends not to listen.

“So, about yesterday…”

Stan smiles a little. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? You looked pretty disheveled when I helped you up.”

Stan tucks some hair behind his ear and the curl tickles his lobe. “Yeah, I’m cool. My elbow was a little scraped, but I’m okay.” 

He really is fine. Stan is… small in terms of weight. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thrown around by Richie all his life. There’s been plenty of times where Richie and Stan would play at the park and Richie would end the day with a busted lip and bleeding hand and Stan would go home with cut up knees and sticks in his hair. It’s all in good fun, and Stan has the scars on his knees to prove it.

Mike nods, seemingly okay that Stan’s okay.

The professor starts talking and Mike leans back to sit comfortably in his seat. Stan stares off into nothing while his teacher goes over last class’s chapter reading about MacBeth. Stan’s read the play twice, seen it once, and was forced to watch Bill drunkenly act it out.

No, that’s not the worst part of the class. The worst part of the class is presentations. Particularly, this one. The moment the teacher said “debate” and “partners”, Stan knew today was the day he shot himself in the foot. 

Most people partnered up easily, already giving each other the Look and sitting by each other. Many wanted to be partners with Mike. And Stan…

Stan doesn’t get a partner. He never liked projects like this because he always ends up doing all the work, but in this case people just don’t like him enough to work with him. Which is fine. Stan’s not upset. Except his professor said “no partner” and “fail” in the same sentence and Stan is very close to actively searching for a weapon.

“There’s an even amount of students, so no groups of three,” he says, staring down a group of girls and guys.

His professor looks over at Stan, who is already writing his topic of whether Lady MacBeth was truly a victim of society or just plain greedy.

“No partner, Stanley?”

“No, sir.” Stan looks up at him.

“I’ll be his partner.”

It’s Mike Hanlon. Of course it’s Mike Hanlon. The couple of girls and boys around him stare so angrily it looks like medieval torture.

When Stan looks over, Mike is smiling at him brightly. He returns it shakily. Mike picks up his bag and moves closer to sit with him. It feels like Stan is dying inside because he just came to the realization he kind of, maybe, possibly, mostly likely, indefinitely  _ likes  _ Mike the same way he likes his big stupid boyfriends (and the small angry boyfriend).

“You already started,” Mike asks, staring at the notebook.

Stan looks down at it too. “Yeah, a little.”

“Cool, we can do this one.” He looks at Stan, but Stan has short circuited because all he can think about is Mike’s  _ arm _ , and how he should never wear a sleeveless shirt. He’s a danger to society.

Stan forces himself to look down at the notebook again and asks, “What side do you want to take?”

“Well, you’re ahead of me, so you can choose first,” Mike says with a laugh. His laugh was a deep and smooth thing, like the feathers on a duck. Stan holds back a laugh.

“What,” Mike asks. “Did I say something?”

Stan clears his throat. “No. No, I just thought of something a friend sent me about this play, and I just remembered it. I can just do the first one.” Oh, my God, Stan Uris shut the fuck up. That’s the most he’s spoken out loud to anyone he isn’t intimate with.

But Mike is laughing again, and the world is at peace. Stan watches him laugh and files it in its own folder so he can mentally flip through it later today. He had a plan or something, didn’t he? To ask Mike out on a date and do something like eat dinner or lunch.

Stan tosses around his plan while Mike scribbles down his own reasoning as to why Lady MacBeth was greedy. He gets an incoming text from Richie and opens it away from prying eyes.

Chee:  _ video.mp4 _

Chee:  _ to your request _

Stan doesn’t trust Richie whenever he sends audio clips or videos. Stan was once almost kicked out of class because Richie sent him an audio of him eating chips with the bass boosted and he didn’t know until almost ten full seconds later because Richie unconnected his AirPods. As much as Stan loves him and would die for him, he believes one day he’ll be sent to prison for choking him to death.

Stan:  _??? _

Chee:  _ :/ why don’t you just open it _

Stan:  _ and not know its contents? this isn’t my first rodeo with you _

Chee:  _ LMAOOOOO okay yeah that’s valid _

Chee:  _ its porn _

Stan:  _ RICHIE _

Chee:  _ no it’s a porno of me and eddster _

Stan:  _ I’m telling Eddie you call him eddster _

Chee:  _ let’s do it baby I know the law >:) _

Stan scrolls up a little and Richie’s right. It’s him and Eddie fucking. The camera is propped up on Stan’s dresser with the bed in full view. The angle is better than the last video Richie sent him a few months ago. He’s getting better at camerawork.

Stan:  _ I’m in class rn _

Chee:  _ okay and? you’re infamous for thinking about perverted shit in academic places _

Stan:  _ fuck you _

Chee:  _ maybe when you get home ;) _

Stan audibly snorts and turns off his phone. Talking to Richie too long can kill brain cells.

Class is dismissed after an hour and Stan is ready to go home and nap. His plan with Mike fell through and Stan isn’t sure how to deal with disappointment, but he’s like 80 percent sure it involves a nap.

Mike catches up with him by walking straight in front of him and having Stan stop in his tracks.

“Hey, Stan.” Mike hikes his bag up and looks almost sheepish.

“Hey, Mike.” Was he always this awkward? What does Bill, Richie and Eddie see in him? It’s probably the pretty hair. 

People Stan has never spoken to before are staring at them, jabbing a friend in the side before looking over at the sight just a few feet ahead of them. Stan tries not to make eye contact and just look at the subject in front of him.

“You don’t have a class after this right,” Mike asks.

“No, I was just gonna go home,” Stan replies. Someone walks by and coughs “slut” behind a fist before smiling at him wickedly and walking away. He ignores it.

“So, would you mind if I take you to lunch? It’s on me.”

The feeling of disappointment lifted off Stan’s shoulders and he stood up taller. He knew his cheeks were heating up. Stan took years to reply (actually it took him mere seconds, but he’s dramatic).

“Yeah, sure.”

+

They do, in fact, discuss the project at hand and almost finish the entire thing until Stan slips up and says something about a bird that had nothing to do with the conversation.

“What are you talking about,” Mike asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Stan replied automatically, almost robotically, and Mike didn’t seem bored after two and a half seconds, so he went into detail about the habitat and what the bird sounds like.

And then Stan said something so stupid he thinks he might be giving Richie some competition.

“I’ve got a whole journal on birds.”

Mike looks surprised, but not the bad kind of surprised and Stan is glad for that. He doesn’t have the journal on him, thank fucking God, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t memorized its contents.

The truth is, Stan doesn’t just have one journal, he has three completely filled with feathers and notes and writing, and even more with blank pages ready to be filled (years of birthday gifts from his boys). They sit on a bookshelf in his room and tables on the patio.

So they talk about birds oddly enough. And they talk about things like flat earthers and climate change because who knew one of the smartest people Stan knew was educated on this? Mike got particularly touchy when justice systems came into the conversation, and watching him be angry and huff is the cutest, sexiest thing Stan had ever seen.

By the time they ran out of things to talk about, it was way past four and Richie was blowing up his phone with messages and memes every two seconds. Stan got a to-go box for his lunch to eat later and Mike was watching him with an unreadable face.

“You know, people say all kinds of things about you,” he says.

Stan is organizing his papers and doesn’t pause his actions when he replies. He smiles a little. “People say things about everyone.”

“Yeah, but… People say you’re bad news.”

This makes Stan look up at Mike and squint. There have been rumors left and right about who Stan really is as a person. At first it was he had an ice cold personality and was a prude who never even swore. Then it was being Richie’s side hoe. That’s when the most recent rumors started going around, why guys would look him up and down, why girls hated him, why people were shaming him behind coughs and laughs and yawns.

Stan is sure Mike has heard of these rumors.

He lifts a brow.

“I don’t think you’re bad news,” Mike says.

“You don’t even know me,” Stan replied, suspiciously aware of how much this looks like a set up. He wouldn’t put it past the people at this college to pull something like that. “You have no idea who I am as a person, so how can you judge just based on this interaction today?”

Mike shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I want to know who you are as a person.”

And Stan.

Stan can’t argue with that.

+

Mike wanted to kiss him.

Stan was very pretty in the sense of mixing masculine and feminine and molding it into something absolutely ethereal. The way his hair fell in his eyes and his cheeks would flush with excitement made Mike want to touch him just to see if he existed. 

His hands were pale with perfectly manicured nails. 

His body was long curved like a paint brush. Clothes hung off him in elegant manners and he never needed accessories that flashed, just twinkled.

Stan had a mouth made for speaking. The way his lips would part and shape itself when he spoke made it hard to pay attention. He likes to press his mouth together when he’s thinking, and nibble on his bottom lip when he’s unsure of anything. He smiles softly and beautifully to reveal a part of himself he doesn’t expose to the world. Despite being in a public place, it was the most privacy Mike had ever gotten in a long time.

And then Mike went and said, “You know, people say all kinds of things about you.”

He got to see how Stan looks when he’s suspicious, a little angry. It didn’t make him any less beautiful. It didn’t make Mike any less in love with him.

Mike spent a good amount of his days thinking about Stan, as one does when they’re in love. They hadn’t talked after Mike said that he wanted to know Stan. Perhaps that’s an impossible thing to ask of someone who is Stan Uris. Perhaps he’s unknowable.

The next time Mike sees Stan, it’s in class. He sits a desk away, just as he did last class, and opens a notebook to take notes. Mike stares at him. 

No, he stares at Stan’s wrist and what’s on it.

A simple silver bracelet with four letters, B, R, E, and S, dangle from their own charms. Mike thinks it might be a birthday present, but it’s turning towards spring, Valentine’s had passed, and Stan’s birthday is always during summer break.

Mike wants to ask who got it for him, what does it mean, why does he look so good in silver?

Mike doesn’t ask. He just stares at it for a long time, longer than what’s deemed as okay. He eventually turns his head to the podium where his teacher stands and physically wills himself to pay attention. His eyes shoot over to see Stan taking notes in his italicized handwriting and the bracelet is still there. Who’s Bres? Or maybe it’s supposed to be spelled a different way? It might be Stan’s boyfriend. That makes Mike stifle a laugh.

Stan doesn’t have a boyfriend.

+

Stan is going to kill his boyfriends. He’s going to murder them personally by his very own hands and then turn himself in because he’ll feel extremely bad. But he’s still going to kill them nonetheless.

There was no reason for them to buy him this. They’d already exchanged gifts and spent Valentine’s Day together, and yet there was Richie slamming a little black box on the counter while Stan was getting food out the fridge to make dinner.

For no other reason than “we just think you deserve it”, as if they hand out expensive presents like this everyday.

But… it is pretty. And it has all their initials on it. Stan had put it on and frowned at it. They knew him too well to know that he’d never pass up anything like this. Stan liked simple things like thin silver bracelets. Damn them for knowing him inside and out.

Working with Mike was easy, although everyone else was against it. They fit into each other like a jigsaw puzzle, always figuring the other out, but at times they came up with the wrong pieces and that was okay.

But then there were thoughts that distracted Stan at times. Like when Mike has stretched and Stan thought of something so vulgar and lewd he scraped his nails along the bottom of his chair. And the way he would lean his body into Stan’s and he could feel the warmth of him drove him up the wall. 

Stan was on his toes constantly, always trying to keep a low profile. That’s a bit hard when one of the most popular and sweetest guys he’s ever encountered is his project partner. 

But Mike wasn’t here now, at a picnic bench under a tree where Stan can add to his journals in peace. He thought getting himself outside would help him and his erotic thoughts. They have, but the moment Stan doesn’t have a distraction his mind spirals into his own world. His mom always said Stan was a fucking airhead.

There are people walking all around him. Groups of students out and about, dogs going on walks. Birds are chirping and cooing. It’s nice and warm.

“Stan,” someone says from afar. Stan doesn’t look up the first time, unsure if someone was really addressing him, but he does the second time.

There’s a group of girls standing a few feet away, whispering and laughing. It’s definitely bad news to interact with them, but Stan doesn’t have a choice because they’re making their way towards him and blocking out the sun with their shadows.

“Hey, Stan,” one girl says sickly sweet.

Stan just stares.

“Hey, so, how does it feel… you know?” Stan continues staring at her with a blank expression. He holds onto his journal tightly, the pages crumbling in his fingers. He knows what she’s going to say. It’s so obvious she’s going to insult him, his body, his personality and a part of him thinks every bit of what she’s saying is true. Maybe they’re all right and Stan isn’t what everyone swears up and down he is. 

“Being a whore, you know? How does it feel knowing you steal other people’s men and home wreck them? I heard a slut like you can’t go more than a day without getting fucked. I will say, props to seducing your professors. No wonder you have perfect grades.”

The girls around her laugh and try to make grabs at his pens, his journals. Stan is too stunned to do anything, just watches them flip through pages and make giant marks on each one.

And they start saying meaner things, things that Stan could only think Henry Bowers would be proud of, things that are the reason people die and starve and dehydrate.

“Fairy.”

“Pussy.”

“Fucking fa—”

+

When Stan unlocks the front door, he knows Bill and the rest of them are home. Richie is sitting in the living room going over lines for a play he’s doing in Theatre. Bill and Eddie are their own little world, busying themselves in the kitchen.

Stan practically throws his shoes off and drops his things in the process. They all thump and clatter to the floor and he jumps because oh God  _ he’s  _ making all that unnecessary noise.

He registers someone talking to him, but all Stan can think is how he needs to get to his room and he needs to get there now.

He’s still standing in the doorway, hands balled up into fists at his sides. His legs feel heavy, but his head feels so light. Everything is muffled. The sound of Richie trying to get his attention, Eddie watching with knowing eyes, and Bill as he tries to bring Stan back from wherever he is at the moment.

Stan jerks himself into motion and walks to his room. He slams the door behind him and thinks about locking it. He doesn’t. 

Stan stands in the middle of the room, staring at the wall and it’s smooth white surface. His face feels flushed and warm and his eyes sting. His chest stutters as he lets out a gasp. There is nothing worse in this world than crying. Nothing.

His legs are the first to give out. Stan crumples to the floor and holds back his sobs, but his chest is hurting like it’s never hurt before and his nails are starting to dig into his skin. His face is disgustingly wet with tears as they blotch his face and redden his nose. There’s snot on the back of his hand when he wipes it.

God, his heart is killing him. It feels like someone is choking him, suffocating him. Like he’s underwater, drowning after someone threw him to the sharks. Stan clutched his chests and let out a pained wail. It’s long and loud and feels so damn good that he does it once more for good measure.

“Stan,” a soft voice comes from the other side of the door. It sounds as sad as Stan feels.

“What?” The answer comes out thick and weak.

“What h-happened, love?” That’s Bill, no doubt.

Stan doesn’t answer. He untangles himself from the floor and sits up on his haunches. He looks over to his right and sees how he looks in the mirror. There’s no dry place on his face. Hair sticks to his tear stained cheeks, lips bitten and licked red, eyes bloodshot.

This is why Stan hated out of control emotions. They make him like this. They’re too big for him to handle.

“Stan, talk to us,” Richie says. “We can’t help if you don’t talk to us.”

Stan wants to do many things right now and talking is not one of them. The last thing he wants to do is burden them with this. He just needs to pull himself together that’s all. They just need to give him a minute.

He’s still crying. He keeps wiping the tears away, but more come down until he gives up completely and just sniffles like a child. Stan bites at his lips and stares at his hands.

The door is opened eventually and it’s no other than Eddie Kaspbrak. He looks solemn and on edge, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t want to upset Stan further. He’s also holding Stan’s ruined journal.

He sits down beside him and Stan drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. They sit like that without speaking to each other. The door is wide open, but empty of two big bodies. Eddie takes his hand and twines their fingers together. His hands have calluses, but not as bad as Richie, whose hands are always rough and scratchy. The grip is strong and comforting and Stan leans into Eddie more.

“Feel better now?”

Stan nods and unconsciously rubs his thumb along Eddie’s knuckles.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Stan shakes his head. Eddie wipes his cheek and pushes some hair behind his ear before kissing his head. He whispers “oh, Stan”. They don’t leave his room for the rest of the day.

+

Mike finally, as Victor Criss put it, grew a pair of steel balls and asked Stan to hang out with him on a sunny Friday afternoon after Mike had danced around it whenever Stan attempted to bring it up.

He’d planned something small, Stan comes over and they make dinner together and watch a movie. It’s intimate and not expensive so if Mike ever gets a second date, he can go a little bigger with his spending. Right now, they’re just testing the waters.

Victor was banned from the apartment until at least Monday. Which is good, because that boy could be a mood killer and a menace to society all at once. The last girl Mike had over while Victor was present ended up with Mike trying to get him to not jump from his lofted bed that could potentially break a bone.

But, he’s been banned so that the whole Danielle fiasco will never happen again.

It’s 19:31 when Stan texts him two words.

Stan:  _ I’m here _

Mike feels himself flush cold and immediately pulls himself together. It’s just Stan, it’s just a date, it’s just being  _ head over heels in love _ .

When Mike opens the door, Stan stands in front of him, beautiful and glowing. 

His hair is styled differently, a little less purposeful. It’s usually parted down the side, but tonight it’s the middle and locks of curls frame his face. He’s wearing a cream colored shirt that’s tucked into a pair of darker brown dress pants. Mike tries not to make it seem like he’s checking him out, but it’s kind of hard when Stan smiles at him like that.

“Hey,” Mike says, holding the door farther open.

“Hey, yourself,” Stan replies and steps over the threshold.

Mike feels underdressed, although he really shouldn’t. The weather is warmer, but the wind is chilly, so he’s wearing a turtleneck he got for Christmas and a pair of jeans.

Stan slips off his shoes and looks back at Mike, who hasn’t taken his eyes away from Stan since he stepped through the door.

God, he’s so pretty it actually upsets him a little.

Stan leans against the wall behind him and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks like he’s trying not to smile. “So…” He trails his eyes down and up Mike’s body and Mike notices the way he chews his bottom lip.

Mike chuckles nervously because he’s screwing this up by being star struck in front of all that is Stan Uris and he needs to pull himself together now.

“Help me make dinner?”

Stan, who nods without a word, pushes himself from the wall and walks to the little kitchen. 

Mike steadies himself with a slow inhale and exhale and prays he doesn’t fuck up his chances with Stan.

+

They’re making cheesy chicken alfredo soup, something Mike’s parents make on every wedding anniversary.

Stan knew his way around the kitchen. When Mike told him to dice up vegetables while he got started on the chicken, he had them diced and in a bowl within minutes. He washed the cutting board and knife before jumping up onto the counter and watching Mike carefully cut boneless chicken breast into small chunks.

“Where’d you learn to cook,” Mike asked, dumping the meat into an oiled skillet. Stan hands him the bowl of vegetables and Mike dumps that all in to be seasoned.

“My parents worked a lot when I was younger, so I was by myself most of my life, so I’m half self taught, half taught by someone else.”

“I get that,” Mike says, although he doesn’t quite get it. His parents worked themselves to the bone, but they still made time for him somehow. They always greeted him in the morning and told them they loved him before bed. “My parents worked so much they barely saw each other. Who taught you?”

Stan presses his mouth into a firm line. “Richie.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike says, letting the conversation flow. Richie was a familiar name all around campus. He was loud, brash, funny, and a pretty good acquaintance of Mike’s. A nice guy who’s dating Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Yeah, I’ve known him since we were little. Had it not been for him I’d be living off pop-tarts and all kinds of junk food.” Stan smiles. “He’s way better than me, though. He can make a meal out of anything.”

“Yeah, like what,” Mike snorts.

“He once made beef stew, but he was also in the mood for spaghetti.” Mike looks up at him incredulously. “I know, I thought it’d be horrible, but he made it taste good as hell.”

Mike laughed. “Did he give it a name?”

Before Stan could answer, Mike opened the pot of water holding the tortellini and snatched one out and bit half of it. Stan took the other half and popped it in his mouth.

“Good?”

Stan nodded and scooter farther away so Mike could drain the tortellini. He mostly just sat on the counter watching Mike make the dinner. It just felt natural to do things like this.

Stan resumed the conversation the moment the pot was safely back on the now cooling stove eye. “He did give it a name, yes, but it’s so inappropriate I can’t even bring myself to say it.”

Mike shoveled the chicken and vegetables into the pot and washed it out to get started on the soup. Stan helped him out with the easier things, which Mike didn’t mind at all, as they conversed about this and that. Certain topics could get either of them sidetracked with something they deemed more interesting.

Stan had an odd sense of humor. His tones of voice changed during everything except a joke. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was serious for a few minutes, but he never takes too much seriously. Whenever Mike throws a jab his way Stan can come back with something witty.

They don’t even leave the kitchen to watch a movie when the food is done. Stan had stared at the food with such intensity Mike thought it might actually cook a little faster.

They actually argue a little about what movie to watch. Not because either is picky, but because Stan just likes to make people sweat. The more exasperated Mike got, the more joy Stan got out of it.

“I’m gonna put you out of my house, Uris.”

“Do it, coward.”

Mike gives him a look and Stan returns the look with his own. He chooses a movie that he’s seen at least a hundred times. Stan doesn’t say anything about, which Mike takes as a good sign, and he settles back into the couch to let the movie play.

He gets comfortable and throws an arm around the back of the couch, spreading his legs just so. He can feel Stan tense up next to him, but he relaxes a moment later.

Mike knows this movie in and out, its boring and exciting parts, its sex scenes, its beginning, middle, and end. He doesn’t need to pay attention to it to know what’s going on. And that’s great considering how much he can’t seem to stop paying attention to Stan’s body next to him. How warm he is, how he smells faintly of body wash, but underneath it is a cologne on the rougher side.

They’re about half way through the movie when Stan speaks to him without looking away from the TV.

“You know, I enjoy movies.”

Mike glances at him. “Oh yeah? What kind?”

He feels Stan shrug. “All kinds. I think each genre has their own thing. I’m just a little confused.”

Mike arches a brow and looks over at Stan, who is still staring at the TV screen. He makes a noise to confirm he is in fact paying attention.

“Why are we watching a movie,” he asks and turns to face Mike. “when we could be doing something a lot more fun.”

Mike is struck dumb for two reasons. The first one being how the light illuminates Stan’s features and the second one being the comment he just said. It’s not that Mike hasn’t thought about kissing Stan. It’s quite the opposite. All he ever thinks about is how he wants to drag his mouth along every once of bare skin in his reach, but he didn’t want to push Stan into something he wasn’t ready for…

And yet Stan is looking at him with those pretty brown eyes and Mike doesn’t know what to do. He’s no virgin by any means, but Stan is making him feel like he’s sixteen all over again. 

Mike smiles shakily. “I don’t know, why aren’t we?”

Stan watches his mouth as they form the words and when he’s done, he smiles and lifts a shoulder. “You tell me, Hanlon.”

Mike always thought making out with Stan Uris would be something calm and rational. He’d thought Stan would cup his jaw and kiss him thoughtfully before running his tongue along his lip and slipping it in. He’d thought he’d have Stan pinned to his bed, breaths getting heavy and his body shaking.

Stan stretches up and kisses Mike firmly on the mouth before backing away and searching his face. There’s an explosion in the background from the movie, but it’s drowned out by the dull roar in Mike’s ears.

Mike leans down and hears Stan make a sharp inhale. He parts his mouth and lays a hand on Mike’s neck, where it burns a hole into his skin. In this position, Mike has no fucking idea what to do with his hands, but he aches to touch some part of Stan.

Stan breaks the kiss and throws a thigh over Mike’s legs to straddle him and Mike is going to die. Today is his last day on Earth because there is no way he can survive this. Stan’s body is warm, hard in some places, and soft in others. Mike wraps his hands around his waist and tugs him closer. Stan’s breath hitches and he takes a seat so his ass is right over Mike’s dick.

He kisses Mike again, gently coaxing his mouth open with his chin and making encouraging noises. Stan flicks his tongue out and Mike slides his into his mouth. Stan makes this noise between a breath and a whine, rolling his hips. Mike repositions his hands to help move Stan on his lap.

Stan lets his head fall back to catch his breath. Mike takes this opportunity to distract himself by attacking Stan’s neck and shoulders with kisses. He mouths along the column of his throat, darting his tongue out to lick the curve of his neck. Stan lets out a full body shiver and Mike’s dick is getting harder every second. The fact that Stan continues to grind down on him doesn’t make it any better.

Stan kisses him fiercer than before, almost like he’s a completely different person. He pushes his body flat against Mike’s front and grips his head with his hands. Mike responds in kind, grabbing and groping at Stan’s waist, his thighs, his ass.

“Oh, fuck,” Stan breathes out. Mike admits he likes it when Stan cusses.

Mike could kiss Stan forever. Or at least until his lips feel rubbery.

And then a phone rings. Mike’s phone.

So Mike doesn’t get to kiss Stan forever or until his lips feel rubbery. 

Which is a load of bullshit.

He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch with a groan and Stan laughs lightly. He removes himself from Mike’s lap, much to his hesitance.

Mike gets up to answer the phone and isn’t surprised to see it’s Victor.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Mike hisses into the phone. Victor laughs happily. “No, really I’m gonna kill you.”

“Please, what were you doing? Couldn’t be anything beyond hand holding with that prune.” 

Mike glares into the darkness of his kitchen.

“Anyways, I need to come back to the apartment.”

Mike sighs. “Why?”

“You know the girl I’ve been fucking with? Yeah, her boyfriend walked in on us. I’m about to get my ass kicked. Said he’s gonna hunt me down.”

_ And you goddamn well deserve it _ . “What if I say no?”

“Don’t say no, Mike. C’mon, man, please.”

Mike rolls his eyes. Victor was always knee deep in shit, huh? “Yeah, bring your ass. I’m giving you twenty minutes before I lock the door and never unlock it till morning.”

Victor hangs up at that. He doesn’t even say thank you. Mike needs a new roommate.

Mike takes a moment to himself to mentally choke the shit out of Victor and turns to Stan. He’s standing in front of the TV with his shoes on watching the last bits of the movie play out. His hair is a bit more ruffled than usual and his shirt has creases, but he looks almost the exact same as he did minutes ago.

Mike doesn’t want him to go. He wants to argue about stupid shit like movies. He wants to kiss Stan’s mouth, and his neck, and his chest. Mike wants to be everything Stan needs.

“Victor is coming back sooner than I thought.” It physically pains him to say that. The last thing Mike wants is for his trashy roommate to come back and ruin the entire mood of this date. Although Mike isn’t too sure where it would have gone if he hadn’t interrupted. 

Stan stands there for a while with his hands at his sides The credits are beginning to role. “I guess that means this is over,” he said dejectedly.

Mike itches to touch Stan again. It felt like his entire body was in flames, hot with want and desire. It felt nothing like it did any other time he had heavy make out sessions with other people. It just felt different, maybe because his emotional feelings toward Stan were on another level. 

Mike makes a noise of agreement.

Parting ways was a little awkward, but Mike still walks Stan to his car.

“I had fun,” Stan tells him as he unlocks his car (a Lexus, holy shit).

“Yeah, me too.” Mike held the car door open. Stan dropped into the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry it ended so early.”

Stan’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but doesn’t. “No worries. I’m sure next time will be better.”

Mike’s heart falls to his ass and jumps to his throat. Stan starts the car and Mike slams the door shut. Stan rolls down the window. Mike leans down to look at him.

“There’s a next time?”

“Should there not be a next time?”

“No,” Mike says too quickly. “No, there should definitely be a next time.”

Stan smiles this time and it makes him look younger. “No interruptions.”

Mike laughs. “No interruptions.”

_ God, let’s fucking hope.  _

+

The house is dark and empty when Stan enters. Nothing is on, not even the TV. The kitchen is empty of people and the rooms are quiet. Bill’s room is dark and the door is open. Stan’s room is usually never occupied. It’s practically turned into Eddie’s room at this point. Stan can’t complain. He likes the smell of strawberries and vanilla on his bedsheets.

The only room with a light on is Richie’s. Stan opens it and makes sure not to disrupt his flow of work.

Richie, although messy, has a way of doing things in his own organized way. Bill likes for things to be grouped by category and size; big horror novels on the bottom, small mystery novels on the top. Stan enjoys life when things are color coordinated; muted colors in one spot, ostentatious colors in another. And Eddie just has to make sure something is in alphabetical order if possible. 

Richie does none of this. His textbooks will be stacked every which way, his clothes have no sense of theme to them, and his music collection is so vast it’s almost impossible to organize it. From the objective eye, Richie Tozier is a messy person. And that’s not to say he isn’t. He wears the same shirt too many days in a row, gets too much dirt on his glasses, and always,  _ always _ has something stuck in his hair. But Richie has his own system that only he understands. And if that means his room looks like a pigsty, then so be it.

He’s sitting on the floor with his headphones plugged into a radio. There are tapes and CDs scattered everywhere along the hardwood floors. Richie’s back is to the door, so Stan is free to admire him for a while. His hair is curled up in all the right places, making it look like he has a bad case of bed head. His back is wide and pinches into a waist. Beyond his waist is a pair of long and large legs. He wasn’t always naturally big like this. He had to grow into it. Richie was incredibly clumsy as a child, breaking things, hurting himself. Then he just grew and kept growing. He still breaks things and hurts himself, but it’s decreased drastically. 

Richie yanks the headphones off and sighs loudly. He takes the tape from the radio and gently slides it back into its case and sets it on the growing pile of music.

“Where’re the others,” Stan asks.

Richie jumps and yelps, turning to Stan with a wild look in his eye. His hair is pushed back with a headband and his glasses are off, most likely on the nightstand.

He squints at Stan for a really long time before sighing “Me asustaste muchísimo, Stan!”

“Lo siento,” Stan deadpans.

Richie flails around for his glasses and shoves them on his face. He turns on his ass to face Stan. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore three days ago. “You’re back early.”

Stan leans on the doorframe. “Yeah, I am. Where’s Bill and Eddie?”

“They went out. I needed to stay home and finish this project.”

Stan makes a note of Richie’s face. “But…”

“But,” Richie repeats through a stretch. “I can’t find a string to match the bass no matter how many albums I go through. I know I’ve heard the sound before, but I can’t remember where.”

Stan only understood the last half of that, but he’s sure he gets it. It’s frustrating to know what you’re looking for and not being able to find it.

Richie is looking at him weird. Stan has dodged the reason he’s home early twice now and he won’t get a third chance to do it. Mostly because Stan is a private person. He’s not reserved, but he definitely isn’t open. He doesn’t explode with anger like Eddie, laugh loudly from happiness like Bill, or talk excitedly like Richie. Richie liked to say Stan’s inside is too big for his outside and that’s why he seems so apathetic. His emotions were too much for him to handle, so he had to bottle them.

“Where’d you go just now,” Richie asks. He’s getting up, not taking his eyes from Stan’s slightly hazy state.

Stan flicks his eyes over to Richie, who is walking over to him. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You went somewhere for a second.” He wraps Stan in an embrace that reminds him of when they were seventeen and figuring out intimacy together. Richie smells faintly of cologne, the kind that lingers after someone has walked by and it makes you feel pleasant. One of his hands makes loving circles on his back. Stan hooks his chin over Richie’s shoulder. “What are you thinking about? Did the date not go well?”

“It went fine. I had fun. Criss came home early, so I just came home sooner than I’d liked.”

Richie makes a noise of affirmation and starts swaying them to unheard music. Stan rests his hands on Richie’s hips.

“We ate dinner, watched a movie, made out… teenager stuff, I guess.”

“But you like teenager stuff,” Richie teases.

Stan does like teenager stuff.

They rock rhythmically to more silent music for a while, stepping carefully over Richie’s albums. He kicks them off their homemade dance floor. At some point they even mix it up and do their own version of the waltz.

“So.”

“So what?”

Richie splays his hand on Stan’s back and dips him. “You made out with him.” He brings Stan back up to his chest. Stan has a hand on his shoulder, the other intertwined with his so they’re dancing properly.

“I did.”

“He a good kisser?”

Stan pretends to think about it. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Better than me,” Richie asks in mock sadness. Stan knows it’s just curiosity and slight validation he craves.

Stan answers by finding Richie’s face and kissing him chastely on the mouth. He kisses him again, a little harder, as they continue dancing. Despite everyone thinking he’s a feral animal, Richie enjoys the sweeter parts of intimacy. He likes cuddling and sharing clothes and kissing his boys at random times. That’s not to say he can’t be rough and unforgiving during intimacy as well. Richie could fuck Stan into the mattress so hard he still felt him days after. There have been times Eddie has to beg him to stop or he’s going to come so hard he blacks out. Bill is never that vocal during sex, but Richie knows how to make him bend and arch and scream. It’s really a talent.

Richie chases Stan’s mouth and makes a noise in the back of his throat.

When they kiss again, Richie parts his mouth enough for Stan to slot lips perfectly against his. Their dancing has slowed down a bit, but Stan can feel their feet moving on their own accord. Richie presses their bodies together. His hand is on the small of Stan’s back and his other sits in the middle. A little lower and Richie would be able to grip his ass. The thought alone makes Stan shiver.

“Did he kiss you like this,” Richie breathes out between them. He lets his hand slide over the globe of Stan’s ass and up again. Stan makes a noise, not sure what he’s responding to.

He wraps his arms around Richie’s neck to deepen the kiss as he slides his tongue past his teeth. That makes Richie squeeze his ass and Stan pushes back into it. It feels good, the way Richie knows his body so well. Mike had groped him everywhere, but he didn’t know where Stan needed it.

Richie pulls away, bringing Stan’s bottom lip with him, and sucks on his throat. Not hard enough for a hickey, but it has Stan’s knees buckling under him.

“Richie,” he breathes.

Richie continues biting and licking his way along his neck. Stan throws his head back to allow more access and Richie takes it all. He’s got both hands grabbing his ass now as he pulls on the lobe of Stan’s ear with his teeth. “Did he know where to touch you,” he asked in his ear and Stan doesn’t know if he wants Richie to shut the hell up or keep talking.

Richie slides his hands up to the front of Stan’s pants and unbuckles the belt without effort. Stan is on his tiptoes trying to sink inside him. Richie kisses him with ferocity, untucking the shirt from its confines. Stan pushes his tongue against Richie’s, his hips rocking minutely on his hands. Richie gets the pants unbuttoned and shoves a hand between his legs.

“Fuck, Chee,” Stan moans. He pushes into him until Richie is walking backwards into his bed and sitting on it. 

Stan gets out of his pants and climbs comfortably into Richie’s lap (his favorite place in the world really). Richie is still wearing all of his clothes while Stan hovers over him in his briefs and dress shirt. None of that matters when Richie is rubbing his thighs and edging Stan closer to him.

Stan bends down to kiss Richie wet and hot. He’s seated comfortably so that his ass rubs against the hardening dick confined to the sweatpants. Richie keeps a hand on his hip to grind him forward. The other is on his ass, two fingers trailing a path from Stan’s clothed perineum to his hole. Stan feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out if Richie doesn’t stop fucking around.

“Richie,” Stan warns. “C’mon.”

Richie just presses his fingers firmer and Stan can feel his briefs getting wet from the precome. He humps into Richie’s lap, little whines falling from his mouth. Stan thumps his forehead into Richie’s shoulder. His lips feel like rubber from being kissed and bitten at, but what he wants is for Richie to  _ do something _ .

Richie uses his free hand to shove it under his pillow and grabs a bottle of lube. He takes his fingers away and coats them with the clear liquid. Stan hesitantly backs away to get out of his underwear and helps Richie get out of his sweatpants. Thankfully, Richie isn’t wearing anything under them; he never does when he wears comfortable pants at home.

The lube is warm when it prodes at Stan’s hole. They’re in the position they were before, Richie sitting and Stan on top of him. Stan is stroking his cock slowly, using the lube for a better slide. Richie slides one home easily. He barely even gets a reaction from Stan besides a hum. Richie does what he’s good at: using his hands.

He shoves the finger to the knuckle and holds it there before pulling it out completely and pushing it to the knuckle again. Stan gasps and lets go of his dick and digs his nails into his biceps. He lets his head fall back against his shoulders and gyrates his hips a little.

“You like that,” Richie asks in his voice when he doesn’t sound serious but he is. Stan bites his lip. Richie kisses his collarbone. “You gonna answer?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Stan answers.

“Good.” Richie pulls the finger out again and circles it around the rim. Another finger joins the first one and Richie is careful not to hurt Stan when he enters him again. Stan wants him to hurry up, but they’re both a little tired, a lot in love, and knowing Richie is going to treat him right always calms Stan down.

Richie angles his hand so the digits are rubbing against the wall closest to his prostate. Stan makes a wounded noise. He’s got Richie’s arms in a deadly hold.

“There. Yes, Richie,  _ fuck yes _ .”

Richie kisses the column of his neck and his cheeks. He’s breathing hotly in Stan’s ear, but he doesn’t mind.

“‘M gonna fuck you right,” Richie whispers and speeds up the two digits. Stan keens and thinks he might sob. “Been thinking about it since you came back home.”

Stan wants Richie to fuck him so bad. He knows Richie would do it right, would press into him like it’s his first time, fuck him however way he asked, talk to him any way he wanted him to. He wants him so bad it hurts.

Richie adds the last one (Stan only knows it’s the last one because Richie always uses three fingers) and Stan is fucking back on them. Richie is barely doing the work at this point. He unbuttons Stan’s shirt and licks a pink bud into his mouth. Stan practically shouts.

Richie removes his fingers and spreads more lube on the length of his dick. Stan looks like he’s on the verge of coming at any moment, but he’s always full of surprises. Richie guides Stan over him and watches in vague awe as Stan sinks down on the entire shaft. He’s got his lip trapped back in his mouth and Richie kisses him with too much tongue and teeth.

Stan moves his hips in little circles as he gets used to the feeling. Richie waits patiently for him to adjust and bites a nipple to distract him.

Richie tells him to breathe.

They’re sitting on the edge of Richie’s bed which isn’t a good idea because to fuck Stan you need a flat surface under you. Richie gets them scooted back to the headboard without jostling Stan’s position on top of him too much. The moment they’re comfortable Stan is riding Richie.

Stan hates riding because it means he has to do the work. He can never bounce hard enough or fast enough to get the results he wants. They usually never have him like this, but whenever they do they always make sure Stan gets his way.

Richie holds him up by the waist and plants his feet into the bed to snap his hips. Stan arches his back, jutting his arms out behind him to steady himself. Stan likes that. He likes that a lot.

“Do it again,” he says.

“Yeah?” Richie brings Stan down and his hips up to meet in the middle. Stan moans high and pretty.

Fuck, it feels like Richie is everywhere right now. He’s touching him from the inside out and Stan doesn’t know what to do. But it feels good. He almost can’t take it and wants to tap out, but Richie is fucking him hard and slow. It’s intimate and sensual and everything Stan is but also isn’t.

Stan’s arms are shaking from exertion and he slides onto his back where the bed sheets cool him off. Richie goes with him, sitting up on his knees.

“Tired?”

Stan nods.

Richie smiles at him softly and takes Stan’s leg and places it over his shoulder. The other is around his waist. Richie pulls out until the tip catches the rim and slides in halfway. He slides back out and pushes in a little more than last time until Stan is sweating and his thighs are twitching from stimulation.

Richie makes sure Stan is flush up against his body and fucks into him hard and fast. Stan twists the blanket into his fists and arches from the mattress, toes curling. He can barely breathe and starts to feel his chest burn. Stan takes a gasping breath to moan and once he’s started, he can’t stop. Everytime Richie gets deep inside him he’s whining and repeating his name like a mantra. Richie hit a stop so close to his prostate Stan let out a sob and worked to get him back there.

“You’re so damn loud,” Richie grunts. “You want the whole neighborhood to hear you, or just Mike?”

The mention of Mike’s name has Stan spiraling and he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Richie, fuck,  _ oh fuck _ .” Stan is losing his mind. Mike had him keyed up before, but this is something else. Richie inside him, Mike on his mind. Stan is really losing it.

“Bet you’d love it if he fucked you,” he punctuates with hard thrusts, each one finding his prostate. “How do you want him?”

God, Stan doesn’t even want to fathom that. Stan on his hands and knees as Mike takes him from behind, pushing his head into the mattress so his ass is up. He wants Mike to fuck him hard, then slow. He wants him to scramble his damn guts.

He can’t answer because Stan is so fucking close to coming he just needs more. He won’t beg for it, not ever. But Richie has got his mind swirling with possibilities and ideas so lewd he might actually go to Hell for them.

Stan can feel the climax beneath his skin. It’s simmering and it’s making his thighs tense up.

“Close,” Richie asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Stan answers, then moans it repeatedly when Richie starts  _ getting _ him there. He’s adjusted his waist so it thrusts into Stan at an angle and  _ fuck _ he might come so hard he won’t wake up until next week.

Stan comes with a silent scream and his back bent, white rope covering his shirt and chest. Richie fucks him through it before coming himself. Stan goes limp and Richie sits back on his haunches. They stare at each other for a moment when Richie starts laughing.

“What,” Stan asks.

“Nothing.” Richie lays down on top of him and kisses him, the smile never leaving. “I just love you, that’s all.”

Stan cards his fingers through Richie’s hair and smiles at him. And the way Richie keeps looking at him reminds Stan of Mike.

Has he always looked at him like that?

+

Mike can’t stop staring at Stan. They’re sitting in the library right now studying for a math test, but Mike could care less about it. His mind had been on the verge of a meltdown since their date last week. And now they’re sitting across from each other doing practice problems after Stan suggested they study together.

Does this mean they’re dating? Like are they a thing now? Mike can’t tell if he should be allowed to call Stan his boyfriend. Maybe it’s too soon for that. They haven’t gone on enough dates for that. Have they? They have been hanging out almost everyday after class.

“You’re staring,” Stan says, not looking up from his textbook.

“Am I,” Mike answers. “I didn’t notice.”

Stan looks up at him through his lashes before flicking them back down. Mike smiles at him innocently.

“You’ve been on the same problem for ten minutes.”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know how to do it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Mike snorts.

Stan drops the pencil and looks up at Mike properly. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” Damn, Mike, just moving right into it. It’s true, though. Mike thinks about Stan all the time. He’s probably going to think about him when he gets home, while he’s in the shower, while he touches himself.

Stan looks amused. “Are you thinking dirty thoughts about me when we’re supposed to be studying?”

Mike feels his face burn and looks away. Not particularly dirty, but hearing Stan just say it so casually makes him flush. Stan huffs a quiet laugh.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But…?”

Mike looks back at him. He looks more serious now, more thoughtful. Mike takes a steady breath in.

“Are we dating,” Mike asks, but quickly rephrases his words when he realizes what he’d said. “I just mean, are we serious? Or, like, what are we?”

Stan stares at Mike with a blank face. He’s got his chin propped up in his hand and he’s idly twirling the pencil on the table. Mike can’t even hear the sound of his own breathing with the noise rushing in his ears and his pulse beating incessantly.

Stan opens his mouth and says, “Well, Hanlon, I like you. You like me. Yeah, I guess we are.”

Mike relaxes into the back of his chair and smiles.

_ I’m dating Stan Uris. Cool. _

+

It’s not that Mike doesn’t enjoy a challenge when he’s in a relationship, but he’s finding it to be a problem understanding Stan’s mindset.

Like, okay, last week Mike was out and about running errands and walked by a flower shop. He thought nothing of it until he thought of getting Stan a couple of them. Flowers weren’t too expensive, and Stan had said on a couple occasions he likes pressing them in his journals. So Mike walks into the shop and asks for half a dozen roses in red, pink, yellow, and blue. When he’s bought those, he plucks the petals and puts them in their own ziplock bags by color respectively. He texts Stan to answer his door and hands them the little bags when he opens it. Stan looks down at the roses before looking up and smiling a little.

“I haven’t had any time to get more,” he said and kissed Mike sweetly. “Thank you.”

Anyone would be able to see Stan didn’t enjoy the flowers. He’d given Mike this  _ look _ that reminds him of being scrutinized, or stripped down bare. Whatever it was, Stan covered it with his sweet voice and soft words.

It’s not just that, it’s also the smaller things. Mike just doesn’t understand Stan at times. He’s a little flighty in crowds of people his own age, specifically students from their campus. He looks incredibly apathetic about everything, doesn’t really laugh, doesn’t really get angry. It’s like there’s a hard stop in Stan’s brain that makes him hold himself back.

That doesn’t mean small parts of him don’t shine through. Sometimes when they’re having a heavy make out session in Mike’s room, Stan will curse to the Heavens or scratch Hell down Mike’s back. But even then, it’s like he’s holding an image to himself and won’t let Mike in to see what he’s really like.

It’s frustrating the absolute fuck out of him.

They’ve been dating for a month, and Mike has learned more about Stan sexually than anything else. He knows Stan works at a veterinary hospital across town and he works to rehabilitate birds. He knows Stan doesn’t like it when you tickle him because he’s not particularly ticklish. And his past is a complete mystery to Mike, other than knowing Stan grew up with Richie.

What he  _ does  _ learn throughout the month is that Stan is a completely different person when aroused. He’s always crisp and elegant and shiny, but once Mike pushes the right buttons, Stan is a mess. His shirt gets wrinkled and his hair turns frizzy when Mike runs his hands through it. He grabs at anything that can steady him and his neck is a vulnerable part of him that Mike takes advantage of regularly.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t holding back.

They’re in Mike’s little kitchen at his apartment lazily swapping spit like teenagers. Mike has his hands resting on Stan’s waist and Stan has his arms thrown around Mike’s neck. Mike loves exploring Stan’s mouth. It’s soft and wet and hot whenever Mike kisses him. Stan likes biting his lip and tugging it into his mouth.

Mike yanks him flush to his front a little too hard for his liking. Mike is ready to apologize for being so rough, but Stan  _ moans  _ into it and arches his back and  _ that’s  _ new to him. Stan has never done that before, but Mike has never manhandled him until now.

Stan lets his head fall back to catch his breath and Mike mouths along his neck and enjoys the way he shivers.

“I should go,” Stan breathes out, but makes no effort to move from their intimate bubble. Mike nibbles at his shoulder.

“Mm, why?” Mike moves his hands to Stan’s thighs and spreads them to give himself more room.

“I have to finish some assignments,” he answers. Stan rubs his hands up and down Mike’s chest and back. His body was so small in comparison to Mike. It kind of worried him that he’d hurt Stan if they ever had sex. Mike is not small by any means, and the last thing he wants is their first time together becoming a disaster. 

“Me first, assignments later.”

Stan huffs, but gently pushes at Mike’s chest. Mike reluctantly backs off to let Stan down. He watches as Stan gathers his jacket that he threw over the back of the couch and slips on his shoes at the front doorway. The moment he’s comfortably in his shoes, Stan says something that throws Mike for a loop.

“Do you want to have sex?”

Mike stands there for a second absolutely stunned to silence. He can’t even get a syllable out to say something to him. Maybe Stan didn’t actually say anything and Mike just misheard him.

Stan turns around and asks again.

“Do you want to have sex, Mike?”

No, he actually said it. Mike really doesn’t understand Stan’s mindset. He’s evasive about his past growing up, but will straight out the gate ask Mike if they want to sleep together. He’s nothing less of weird to say the least.

“Um… yes?”

There’s an amused look in Stan’s eye. “Are you sure?”

Mike licks his lip and smiles. “Are  _ you  _ sure?”

Something in Stan’s eyes turns dark. It sends a shiver up Mike’s spine. Stan trails his eyes down to Mike’s crotch and back up to his face. Mike can feel his entire body under scrutiny, and he will admit it feels good to know that Stan wants him as much as he wants Stan.

“I’m positive.”

+

“You  _ asked him _ if he wanted to have sex,” Richie asks.

They’re all in the kitchen. Stan is sitting at the island with a forgotten veterinary assignment in front of him. Eddie is sitting by him eating a bowl of grapes in his pajamas. Richie and Bill are sitting across from them, occasionally stealing Eddie’s fruit.

Eddie smiles, amused by this, and Stan kind of wishes he didn’t tell them. But he also tells them everything. It’s a lose-lose situation.

“Why wouldn’t I,” Stan answers.

“He’s g-got a point,” Bill interjects. “Sex with Stan c-can be—”

“Intense?”

“Mind numbing?”

Stan flips both Richie and Eddie off, but it falls flat when they laugh it off lightly. He’s not  _ that _ intense is he? Maybe he is, but that doesn’t change the fact not everyone can handle him in that state. These three fell into place easily when it came to sleeping with Stan, but that doesn’t mean others will. He enjoys a little pain, a little overstimulation, and Stan is utterly starved of touch in that state of mind. It’s like his body can’t handle having more than one pair of hands on him, yet it’s what he asks for.

“I think you’ll be fine,” Eddie says reassuringly. He sits a grape gently on top of Stan’s assignment.

Stan looks over at Bill to see him studying his face. He panics internally for a moment before looking down at the grape Eddie sat on his paper and eats it to avoid looking at Bill any longer.

+

It all comes to a head a week later when Stan and Mike argue about nothing and everything. Well, no. It’s not exactly an argument, just Mike letting his frustration boil over and explode.

It’s just that Mike was tired. And Mike is never tired, but this was something he needed to talk about head on. He can only handle so much. Everytime he tries to ask Stan about life before them, Stan will switch it to Mike or evade the whole question. Whenever they talk about friends or family, Stan would vaguely mention Richie or Bill or even Eddie, but they were short and curt. It would throw Mike for absolute loops when he’d see Stan with his friends and he’s actively smiling or even laughing. It made Mike feel insecurities he thought he’d crushed down a long time ago.

They’re in Mike’s room, Stan sitting on his bed and Mike leaning against the door. Victor was out doing whatever he did that qualified as a good time, so they were free of his eavesdropping.

“I don’t get you, I really don’t, Stan,” Mike says dejectedly. “It’s like the moment I think I’ve unlocked something about you, there’s an even bigger lock in the way. I can never tell what you’re thinking, what you want, or what you’re going to say…”

Stan just stares up at him and keeps his face neutral. His eyes seem focused, but shift like he’s someplace else.

Mike crosses his arms over his chest and continues. “I mean, you know plenty of things about me, Stan. You know about how I grew up, what it was like, who I hung out with.” Mike lets that sink in. “But I don’t know a damn thing about you. The only thing I know is that you grew up on your own mostly, Richie’s a childhood friend, and you work with animals.”

He closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them, he finds that Stan looks sad and hurt. But he isn’t backing down from his claims. Mike makes a note of his body language. Stan is as stiff as a drawn bow, and his hands look shaky from where he’s standing. Stan shoves a lock of hair behind his ear, and Mike realizes how skittish his eyes are.

“I just… don’t know how to communicate with you.”

Finally, Stan lets out a shaky exhale and composes himself.

The first thing he says is, “I’m sorry.”

Mike waits.

“I,” Stan says slowly. “have problems opening up and expressing emotions.” And then his face contorts like he hates that he even said it. Mike is confused and starting to regret even bringing it up if this is how Stan is reacting to it. Mike lets up from the door and sits beside Stan instead.

“Stan—”

“Growing up was really shitty for me,” Stan says in a rush. He takes a deep breath and slows down. “When I was in the first grade, I heard my parents talking. I remember my mom saying I took up too much space in the house and that she should have aborted me. And then my dad said he regretted the day he found out my mother was pregnant with me.”

The anger Mike felt left him immediately. He shifted closer and laid a hand on Stan’s back to soothe him.

“My parents were never around because they didn’t love me, not because they worked a lot. They would leave me alone at home for weeks at a time, and Richie just so happened to be there to pick up the pieces. I practically lived at his house, and his parents were my parents. No one came to my PTA meetings, no one praised me for awards.”

Mike looked down at Stan’s hands and saw that they were still shaking. He took one in his hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed it gently. Mike looked down at it and saw little pale scars across the expanse of the back of it. When he looked at Stan, he was staring at him with intense eyes.

Stan looks down at the other hand. “They didn’t even come to my graduation. Bill and Richie were the only ones who actually cared. So it’s harder for me to use my words, or say what I want.” He pins Mike with a heated look. “Or how I feel.”

Mike really doesn’t understand Stan. How he thinks, or how he feels. He’s never shown an emotion thoroughly, always stops himself before he tips over the edge. This look he’s giving him has nothing to do with the heaviness of the conversation they’re having. Stan is looking at Mike with unfiltered want and desire, shifting their bodies so Stan’s side is up against Mike’s chest.

Stan cups the side of Mike’s face. He leans in and presses their lips together. He pulls away and smiles lightly.

Mike doesn’t find this okay or worth smiling about. He’s not going to take advantage of Stan when he’s in this state. “Stan, this isn’t a good idea.”

Stan frowns and his brows crease and Mike thinks he’s so cute. “Why?”

He’s pressing himself even closer now, reaching an arm across Mike’s lap to keep himself upright. Stan tilts his face up like he’s just begging to get kissed. Mike backs away slightly. “Because I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

Stan looks at him like he’s crazy. He huffs something close to a laugh and scrunches his nose, shaking his head. Mike wants to kiss him so badly it’s starting to physically hurt. “You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“But—”

Stan gets off him and Mike hates how disappointed he feels at the loss of body heat. Except the heat is back and closer than ever with Stan standing in between Mike’s legs and holding his face in both hands. “You’re not taking advantage of me,” he repeats.

“Then what the hell am I doing?”

Stan leans down and coaxes Mike’s mouth open to slot their mouths together. Mike is taken aback because whoa what the fuck? Stan was borderline hysterical just seconds ago. They were just talking about feelings and trauma, which have nothing to do with sex right now. Now he’s kissing him like it’s his last dying breath.

“You’re communicating with me,” Stan says when he pulls away.

Mike, for some odd and fucked up reason, immediately understands what he means. Stan was right; he’s shit at trying to open up and express emotions, but Mike noticed something. Stan was always most expressive and open when they were intimate. Whether Mike was pulling him closer or sucking on his neck, Stan became responsive. Is it a bit unhealthy? No doubt about it. Does it make Mike worry Stan will try to solve every problem with sex? You betcha.

Mike grabs Stan by the hips and begins laying on his back. Stan follows crawling up until he can lie on top of him. Their hips are lined up together and Stan grinds down, making them both groan. He does it again, harder this time, and Mike’s head starts to spin. Stan breaks away to thump his forehead against Mike’s shoulder as he humps shamelessly against him, little noises slipping out.

Mike gets a hand between them and starts unbuttoning Stans pants. Stan shakes his head though, and removes himself again. He sits up on his knees and starts working Mike’s pants off. Mike wonders if this is Stan’s first time, if he’s nervous at all. Mike would want his first time to be good, and he wants to ask, but Stan is stripping right in front of him.

Mike finally gets his head on straight and gets out of the shirt he’s wearing just as Stan climbs back over him and covers his neck in wet hot kisses. Mike throws the shirt off to the side and watches Stan move lower. He licks a dark nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Mike hisses through his teeth. He cards a hand through Stan’s hair and guides him where he wants him. Mike can feel his cock swelling and moans when he feels Stan’s own dick rub along his. The friction is nice, but it’s rough and dry.

“Have you ever done this before,” Mike asks after Stan has thoroughly abused his nipples and moved down to his stomach.

Stan looks at him through his lashes, biting the skin and worrying it between his teeth. He’s gliding his hands along Mike’s body almost as if he’s mapping him out. Stan kisses Mike’s hip, his thighs, and noses at his balls.

“Stan,” Mike warns.

Mike has a nice dick. It’s not an opinion, just a fact. It’s large when flaccid, but grows even more when he’s hard. A lot of the people he dated, or just slept around with, always enjoyed his dick more than him. And his dick is… well his dick is big. Some people were intimidated by it and if this is Stan’s first time he doesn't want to push Stan too far.

Stan mouths at the shaft, licking along the length. He wraps a hand around him and presses his tongue into the head, sucking it into his mouth. Mike lets his head fall back against the pillows. 

He looks back down at Stan. “You don’t have t— oh  _ shit _ .” 

Stan sinks down on Mike’s entire cock in one go before sliding back up and off and sliding down again. There’s a small part Stan can’t reach, but he makes up for it by holding himself down and choking himself on Mike’s dick.

Mike doesn’t know what to do except grip his hair. He pulls it and almost comes down Stan’s throat when he moans around it. Mike does it again and Stan rewards him by sliding off with a wet pop and jerking him in slow strokes. He’s almost casual about it, circling his thumb along the head.

“Fuck my mouth.” His voice is wrecked and broken, eyes hazy with lust as he puts his hands to work. He continues his ministrations and waits for Mike’s answer.

Mike nods shallowly. Stan lowers his mouth halfway down. Mike makes sure he has a firm grasp on the back of Stan’s head and rolls his hips up. Mike has dreamed of this, Stan with his mouth open Mike chokes him full of his cock, but the real thing is heavenly. Stan has his hands on Mike’s hips as he rolls himself gently into his mouth. It’s hot and wet and Mike just wants to push his face down and ruin him.

The moan Stan lets out vibrates throughout the entire room when Mike thrusts particularly hard. And that’s when Mike comes to a very obvious conclusion.

He likes it when Mike is being forceful.

Stan likes it hard.

Stan likes it rough.

And Mike can’t give him that. He hates the thought of hurting Stan even if that’s what he wants. It feels cruel to just shove someone to their knees and take, and take, and take but never give. The last thing Mike wants to do is hurt Stan when Stan has done nothing to be treated with anything but respect.

The thought sobers Mike up a little. Stan pulls off with an obscene noise and through the fog of lust, Mike can see how happy he is. He’s going to give Stan what he needs, not what he wants.

Mike rummages through his drawer and finds lube and a condom. He sits them to the side and beckons to Stan. “C’mere.”

Stan comes up and Mike kisses him slowly, sliding his tongue into his mouth and bringing their bodies close. Stan is vibrating with arousal, thighs shaking as his body moves on its own. Mike pops the cap and gets three fingers covered in lube. Stan kisses his cheek and nibbles blindly at his neck and shoulders.

Mike circles the finger around Stan’s rim, giving him an out of this is too much, if he isn’t ready, and gets a whine in response. He pushes it inside with no resistance and Mike comes to another conclusion: Stan Uris isn’t a virgin at all.

This somehow disappoints Mike in a way, the fact that someone has already laid Stan out and had their way with him. Stan has sucked dick before, has let people fuck his mouth, has absolutely gotten himself drunk on it. He’s probably even had someone do it the way he wants, rough and fast and hard.

Stan squirms above him and Mike adds another finger. His digits are thicker and larger than others, but Stan seems to be taking it in stride. He has his hands clutching the headboard and pushes his ass back to get Mike deeper. He bites his lip like he wants to say something, but keeps it to himself.

When he does say something, Mike can barely register it.

“Faster,” he whispers.

Mike scissors the fingers apart, spreading Stan out. He shoves them back in faster than before and watches Stan’s mouth fall open in a silent moan, tilting back and forth to get the fingers deeper. Mike ghosts over Stan’s prostate and he arches back, moving his hands to Mike’s shoulders instead, and tries to make him stay there.

“Fuck,” Stan moans and although that’s not new, it sounds different. “There. Right there. Just... _ yeah _ .”

Mike adds another finger and prays he doesn’t die. He’s had his fair share of sexual experiences, but it feels like there’s a new onslaught of intensity. Mike can’t keep his eyes off Stan’s face for more than a second or he’ll come. His hands keep wandering all over his body, cupping his face, pinching his nipples. Mike didn’t think sex could feel like this.

When Mike deems him ready, he pulls his fingers free and flips them over, noticing the way Stan’s dick twitches and leaks a bead of precome. Mike swallows him down and Stan sobs, writhing with pleasure. He hooks both legs over Mike’s shoulders and cradles his head in his hands. His breaths shakes as Mike pulls off him and tears the condom open, rolling it on his shaft. Stan watches, enraptured, and looks at Mike as if he’ll eat him.

He adds more lube and pushes into Stan slowly, watching his face for any discomfort or pain. Stan takes a gasping breath in and holds it, his hands entangled with the pillows under him.

“Breathe,” Mike whispers. He has no idea why he said it, or what it means in this situation, but it just felt right for this moment. Stan exhales and Mike pushes farther in until he’s buried to the hilt.

Stan pushes his hips up at an angle, throwing his head back and biting his lip. Mike grabs him and stills his movements. He soothingly runs his hands up and down his thighs, shifting them so they sit comfortably on his shoulders. Stan is looking at him like Mike’s the only man that matters in the world and he’s so in love it hurts.

He leans down and captures Stan’s mouth in a kiss, bending him in half. It pushes his cock deeper in and Stan moans softly. It sounds beautiful and Mike files it away like a song to remember later. Stan cups his face when Mike pulls out and thrusts into him, watching Mike fall apart. He’s breathing harshly into his mouth, small grunts getting swallowed by Mike’s lips.

He thrusts against Stan’s prostate and Stan makes a sound between a sob and a gasp, letting his head flop and leaving crescents in Mike’s shoulders.

“Yeah, just like that.” Stan wraps his ankles over each other as Mike picks him apart piece by piece.

Mike kisses Stan’s collarbone, sucking a bruise into the skin there. He keeps fucking Stan deep and slow, never letting up no matter how many times he asks for it.

Mike sits up on his haunches and rolls himself almost lazily into Stan’s heat. He gets a hold of his dick and Stan sighs. Mike strokes him to the same pace of his thrusts. He can feel himself getting closer to his own climax, focusing in on how Stan is blushing all the way to his chest. His eyes are hooded and his lips are swollen with spit.

Mike wants to test it out just to see if he’s right. Just to see if he isn’t just seeing things or looking too deeply into it. He pulls out and snaps his hips forward.

“Yes,” Stan cries. “ _ Fuck _ yes.”

Fuck, Mike really likes the way Stan sounds when he talks like that. But there’s just something about being rough like that that turns Mike completely off. He starts jerking Stan off in fast and heated strokes, rocking into him rhythmically.

Stan comes with a soft moan, his back bowing off the bed with his lip between his teeth. Mike fucks him through it before emptying himself into the condom.

Stan has his legs wrapped around Mike’s middle and doesn’t let them down. He looked fucked out, but content. Mike doesn’t make any moves to get them cleaned up even though dry come is gross. He just stares down at Stan as they catch their breath. 

Mike finally pulls out and pulls off the condom, chucking it into the bathroom trash while he wets a rag to wipe off Stan's stomach. With that done, Stan lounges around in his shirt and a pair of Mike’s boxers while Mike puts on a pair of sweatpants.

They lay in bed talking about anything that comes to mind. Stan is straddling Mike again, but just because he says he feels comfortable there. Mike has him by the waist listening to Stan talk about Marvel movies and DC comics.

Mike loves this side of Stan especially. He’s only seen it once, but Stan is obviously relaxed and more animated after sex. His smiles are a little looser and he’ll even laugh at a joke. He’s more playful and willing to go along with whatever Mike says. Mike can almost read him like a book in this state.

“Why’d you choose now to have sex with me?” Mike is rubbing his thighs. They’re soft and kind of squishy.

Stan freezes his current activity, exploring Mike’s upper body with his fingertips, and looks up at him. He looks like he won’t answer until he does. “I just wanted to.”

“Not because you think I deserved it?”

Stan laughs softly. “No, not because I thought you deserved it.”

“Then, why?” Mike’s brows furrow.

Stan sits up. “I guess I just wanted you.” He looks down at him. “Yeah. I just wanted you.”

+

Stan knows he should tell Mike about his relationship. He knows it’s wrong to be with him, getting this serious, without Mike knowing he’s with three other people. How would he even explain that? This situation is much more different than what they went through with Eddie. Eddie was apart of their friend group before he was with them, and he figured it out on his own. Especially since they all had some sort of crush on Eddie, Richie just chose to reach out first.

But Mike isn’t like Eddie. Sure, he’s spoken to Richie and Bill a few times, perhaps even had a polite conversation with Eddie, but he isn’t close enough to really see them. Stan doesn’t want to hurt him, or make it seem like he’s just been stringing Mike sling for fun. The last thing he wants is to do is make the rumors about him seem true. Stan isn’t a slut. Never was, never will be.

He sighs. Maybe getting deep in thought before dinner is the wrong decision to make right now. Stan’s been staring at the wall for who knows how long now. Since sleeping with Mike, he’s had the same pounding thought in his head about how to go from here. It doesn’t feel right to keep his boys from Mike separate, but there’s always the fear of him completely rejecting the idea and Stan can’t handle that. He wants Mike Hanlon…

Someone taps lightly on the doorframe. Stan looks over to see it’s Eddie. His hair is still as messy as always and soft to the touch. He smiles down at Stan. Stan’s heart pounds violently in his chest.

“Food’s almost done.” He stands behind Stan’s desk chair and sets two hands on his shoulders. Stan feels himself calm down a little and relaxes his body. “You haven’t been around often,” Eddie says simply. “We miss you around here.”

Stan immediately feels like a piece of shit for ignoring them. He’s been so caught up in his own head and Mike that he hasn’t noticed it’s been more than two weeks since he’s spent more than an hour with any of them.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie must hear how sad Stan sounds because he uses the laugh to sooth him. The laugh that’s soft on the ears and easy on the eyes. Stan doesn’t even need to see his face to know Eddie is smiling. He can feel warm lips on his cheek.

“Don’t be. You’re happy. That makes us happy.” 

Stan’s heart swells so fast he goes cross eyed. He can barely contain the amount of feelings that just welled up inside him. He stretches his neck to look properly at Eddie and says, “I love you guys.”

Eddie has only heard those words from Stan two times, so the look of shock is expected. He stares down at Stan as if he’s grown two heads, but recovers fast. At first Stan thinks he might cry, but Eddie was never one for crying about just anything. Instead, he kisses Stan on the mouth and leaves him wondering when the hell did he get confident enough to say that without hesitation?

+

Stan thinks about it some more. He can barely focus on anyone else as he passes through the rest of the week in a haze. He has always,  _ always _ , even if it’s for one second, paused before saying “I love you”. Even in the years Stan was absolutely infatuated with Richie and Bill he never said it. And back then he was so full of love he thought he’d burst at the seams with it. When Bill said he loved Stan he didn’t say it back until almost three months later and it sent him into a panic attack immediately after he said it.

He thinks about his parents. The root of his problems, the reason Stan has a stop in his brain. They were the ideal family on the outside. A beautiful wife, a handsome husband, a smart son. But not smart enough. Stan can still remember that little wired contraption his mother had created to whip his hands when he spoke out of turn or got an answer wrong or sobbed too loudly. And she would always say, “I’m doing this because I love you, Stan” and “This is your fault”.

Stan knows he wasn’t a bad child. He did nothing wrong, but after years of it, of being neglected then having negative attention on him, something in him short circuited. Words like “love” froze his mind and made his hands shaky. They made him panicky and sweaty. Years of Bill whispering how much he practically adores him in his ear and Richie kissing his scarred hands daily has pushed him farther than he ever thought he’d go. Eddie knew Stan’s state of mind too well, and sometimes they’d sit in the dark while Eddie explained what is and isn’t healthy in any relationship.

And Mike Hanlon has Stan reeling. He’s never laughed loudly or smiled a lot, but around him it’s all Stan does. He’ll even let Mike take photos of him (rarely, and it’s usually without Stan knowing). Stan finds himself always huffing at something Mike’s sent him and doing full on comedy bits until fuck all hours of the night. Mike is the only reason Stan can accept the fact that he may be falling in love with him, even if he can’t admit it out loud. That hard stop in his brain is getting weaker and Stan doesn’t know how to thank Mike for that.

On top of that, Stan hasn’t told Mike about his relationship with the others and he knows he should. He can’t keep it a secret for this long. There’s no way the other three would stand for it. Stan is sure if he told Mike, he’d reject the idea completely. But he can also trust Mike wouldn’t go around spreading rumors. He’s too kindhearted for that.

Except Stan hates not being able to be with them the way he’s used to. He hasn’t gone out to dinner with Eddie in what feels like forever. Even trivial things like going grocery shopping with them has his heart longing for them. It feels like he’s in a monogamous relationship, and the more Stan realizes that, the more he understands he can’t stand only having one person to wake up to in the morning. He has to tell Mike.

  
  


It’s easier said than done to say the least. Stan can’t find a good moment to sit down and tell Mike what’s been on his mind. But then again, is there ever really a good time to tell someone you’re in a relationship with three other people? Stan is stressing himself out about it so much he can barely focus at work. It feels like someone dropped a lead ball in his stomach and it’s making him nauseous.

He decides showing up unannounced to Mike’s apartment is his best bet. Only because this way he can give himself the choice of backing out of it.

He’s about to knock when the door is thrown open and he’s met with Victor Criss. He’s dressed up, his hair slicked back. Victor leans against the doorframe and smirks.

“Well, hi, Stan. Come to see me?”

“Is Hanlon here?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe not.”

Stan rolled his eyes internally. He doesn’t feel like dealing with him right now. He relaxes his features so his expression is neutral.

“Criss, move.”

“Why are you with him anyway when I’m all you’ll ever need?”

Stan is going to commit murder. There’s no way he can’t not kill Victor Criss. He stares at him instead. “Because if I wanted to be with someone who’s GPA is the same size as their cock, I’d be with you already.”

Victor at least has the decency to look surprised as Stan shoves past him.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you walk away, Uris,” Victor says with delight. Stan flips him off. He laughs and leaves to go harass the next person he meets.

Stan stops at the closed door. His hands feel cold and achy. He hasn’t stopped shaking since he woke up this morning. It feels like his entire body is thrumming with anxiety.

He opens the door and is greeted with Mike laying in the middle of the floor, hands behind his head, phone laying on his stomach, feet and head bobbing gently to the music he’s listening to. Stan feels some anxiety peel away. It feels familiar, walking in on a boyfriend listening to music. Stan kicks are Mike’s foot. Mike smiles at him when he cracks open his eyes. He takes out a headphone and sits up on his elbows.

“Hey, what’s up?” Mike’s smile really lit up rooms. He was so popular and funny and kind. The last thing Stan wants to do is break his heart. Unfortunately, he might.

“Hi, can we talk?”

The smile on Mike’s face slides off and he sits upright enough to cross his legs together. Stan closes the door behind him and leans against the dresser. He remembers just last week when Mike had him pressed against it, taking him apart with his hands and mouth. The object brings Stan a comfort he didn’t know it could bring.

“About what,” Mike asks. He’s looking at Stan like he’s in love with him. Stan looks down at the floor.

“About… stuff.”

“Stan.”

The way he says it makes Stan look at him.

“Mike,” he says in the same tone. He can tell Mike is trying not to smile.

“Stop avoiding talking about your problems.”

Stan almost wants to look upset, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when Mike just read him like a book. Stan takes a deep breath and steels himself. His hands vibrate where they’re clasped together. He stares at them and tries not to think of his mom.

“You know Bill, Richie, and Eddie, right,” he starts.

“Yeah, your friends.”

Oh, fuck, Stan can’t do this. He’s going to vomit. He nods shallowly. And then he shakes his head. He takes another deep breath, slow and steady like Eddie taught him. “They’re more than my… friends.”

When he isn’t met with an answer, Stan keeps going. “I like you, Mike, don’t get me wrong. You’re great. And because of that, I feel like you should at least know who they are to me. They’re my best friends, but I’m also dating them.” There’s no easy way to say that. Stan knows he can’t beat around the bush.

He looks at Mike then and finds the top of his head. Stan lets the information sink in, preparing himself for the anger and resentment.

“How long?” Stan almost didn’t hear it, the noise in his ears was so loud. He can hear himself speak.

“I’ve been dating Richie and Bill for six years and Eddie for almost two.” For some reason, Stan feels delighted at himself for saying that. The situation is terrible, but to be able to say it out loud always brings him some sort of joy.

“Do they know about us,” Mike asks quietly. He’s still staring down at the space between his legs.

“Yes.”

Mike nods. “So some of the rumors about you were true.”

Stan feels his knees get weak. His heart is slamming against his ribcage. The last thing Stan wanted to hear come out of Mike’s mouth were the rumors about him. He forces the bile building up in his throat to settle down.

“Yes and no. I might be dating more than one person, but I’m not slut, and I didn’t fuck my teachers for my grades.” There’s anger in his voice, but not at Mike. At least he hopes it isn’t at Mike.

“So they know.” Mike looks up at him. He looks hurt, confused, angry and Stan is the one that made him look that way. He forces himself to stare back at him because that’s the punishment Stan deserves. “They know about each other?”

“We’re all dating each other,” Stan says simply. He wants to run. He wants to forget this whole conversation ever happened. But it is happening, and Stan knows he couldn’t avoid it longer.

Mike still hasn’t moved from his spot. Stan wants to comfort him. He doesn’t.

“While we’ve been dating… have you… have you had sex? With any of them?”

Stan wasn’t expecting that. “Once with Richie after our first date.”

Mike looks almost wounded. Stan finally picks himself up and walks to Mike. He sets a hand on his shoulder and is relieved when Mike doesn’t shove him away. He doesn’t know what to say at this point. He was sure Mike would have broken up with him by now, hated him.

“Do you love them?”

Stan stares off in the distance. “Very much, yes.”

More unbearable silence.

“Tell me about them.”

Stan almost feels like crying. He feels as if he could actually cry tears of joy. He almost thought it was incapable.

“Well,” he says. “Why don’t you just see for yourself?”

Mike looks at him through glassy eyes. His lashes had drops of tears on them. He’d made Mike cry. Stan could feel his heart breaking. “What?”

Stan wipes the tears away gently with his thumbs. He feels Mike lean into the warmth of his palm and tries not to kiss him. “We’re having a movie night on Friday at eight if you’d like to come.”

Mike holds onto Stan by his thighs, pulling him in close so he can rest his head on his stomach. Stan continues rubbing loving circles on his back. It’s a funny position and makes no sense, but they make it work. Stan feels like Mike wants to ask more questions, but doesn’t want to ruin whatever this is.

+

Mike didn’t think he’d be okay with this. He shouldn’t be. Any sane person would hear what Stan has told him and dump him right then and there. They would probably look at him like he’s crazy and cut him off.

Mike was oddly filled with curiosity. Of course he was hurt and a little angry. Stan kept something  _ this  _ important from him, but Mike gets it. It’s not everyday you find out your boyfriend has three other boyfriends. God, that was a weird statement.

It makes sense to him. How Stan would evade certain questions, how he’d talk enough about his life to satisfy Mike but never enough to see its truth. Stan’s past is still hazy to him. The little scars on his hands make his chest hurt.

It’s Friday night, eight o’clock, and Mike is standing on the doorstep of Stan’s house. Mike wonders just how much money they all make to afford something this nice. He knocks once and is greeted by a smiling Stan.

He hasn’t seen him in about five days. He looks the same, beautiful as ever, but he also looks a little more loose. Happier. There’s a redness to his cheeks that Mike has never seen before. He’s been drinking.

“Mike, hey,” he says. “You came.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Mike stares at him a little longer. He’s in a shirt that’s too big for him and pajama pants. His hair is less put together, which Mike has never seen before. He loves it. Stan opens the door some more to let Mike in. The moment he steps inside, he’s met with the feeling of warmth.

Stan leads him by the hand to the living room where he finds Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak arguing over what movie to watch. They’ve both got a stack of movies sitting between their legs as they go back and forth with their options.

“We watched Odd Thomas already,” Eddie says matter of factly.

“We can always watch it twice.”

Eddie chucks a DVD at Richie, who ducks and laughs wildly. In the kitchen, Bill Denbrough is popping popcorn as if there isn’t an entire war going on in their living room. Stan lets go of his hand to go up to Bill. Mike can’t hear what he’s saying, but Bill looks incredibly thoughtful as he listens. He’s trailing a hand along Stan’s spine. Mike looks away for fear of being caught watching something intimate.

He feels a bit out of place until he sees Richie waving him over. He sits between them and realizes the shirt Eddie is wearing looks almost similar to the one Stan was wearing when he greeted him.

“Help us choose what movies to watch because  _ someone _ can’t make good decisions.”

“It’s called nostalgia, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie flips him off and Richie laughs unabashedly loud.

Mike picks one from the ever growing stack. They own a lot of movies, old and new. Plays, documentaries, horror, action, they had it all.

“Why don’t we go with a theme,” Mike suggests.

Eddie shakes his head. “We can’t, ‘cause if we do, Bill will make us watch plays.”

“And Stan will make us watch documentaries.”

“Just to spite us!”

Richie nods solemnly.

“We should watch an adult movie,” Richie claims. Mike is very worried about what that means for tonight. He looks behind him and sees Stan and Bill still talking. Bill pulls him into a hug and Stan wraps his arms around his neck.

“Don’t worry, they do it all the time.” Mike whips his head around to see Eddie looking at him and Richie digging through more movies. Where did those even come from?

“Yeah, it just means Stan needed some help,” Richie says casually. Mike wonders vaguely what that means. Richie looks up at him, studies his face, and looks back down at the basket of films. He takes out three and hands them to Eddie, who looks at them each. He’s a very attractive boy, soft and rough around the edges, kind of like a cookie.

“Treasure Planet, Up, and Big Tiddy White Girl gets Pussy Pounded by BBC.” Eddie says the last title though a wheeze and Richie falls back clutching his stomach. Mike laughs too, finds it’s funny as hell. He mostly watches the way they interact. Eddie laughs even harder when he opens it. “Happy Feet?”

“When a-are you gonna t-take that out, Rich?” Bill is standing beside the couch, trying not to laugh.

“Never,” Richie wheezes. “It’s funny.”

Bill shakes his head, but laughs lightly. They’re all a little drunk, except for Mike. The mood feels easy and laid back. Stan is sitting on the back of the couch looking relaxed. Mike hopes he doesn’t fuck this up.

-

Bill sets the bowl on popcorn on the coffee table and lays down on the couch. Richie climbs on top of him and gets comfortable, his head on Bill’s chest with his arms partially wrapped around him.

“You’re too big t-to be up here,” Bill says to him.

Richie ignores him in favor of watching Eddie start the movie. He settles in a recliner, bundled up in a blanket. Stan and Mike share the loveseat, Mike sitting on one end while Stan folds his body enough to rest his head on his shoulder.

Mike can barely pay attention to any part of the movie. He’s angled himself so he can watch the others as they watch the movie. Bill must be doing it subconsciously, running his hands up and down his lover’s backs. He’s enraptured by the movie, although Mike is sure he’s seen it before. Richie is quiet, and he looks sleepy. Eddie looks perfectly fine by himself, and he’s sure he is. He looks comfortable sitting there wrapped up nicely.

He glances down at Stan and finds him looking up at him. Stan smiles a little and looks back at the movie.

-

By the time Eddie hauls himself up to slide in a fourth movie, Bill calls it quits. Richie has fallen asleep on top of him, and Bill’s leg is asleep. He shakes him awake, but to no avail. Eddie smacks him tiredly on the back. Richie wakes with a hum and Eddie makes a grabby hand at him. Richie takes it and they both walk to a bedroom.

Bill is next. He stretches out with a groan and hauls himself up.

“Night, Stan. Night, Mikey.” Mike’s never been called that before. He flushes and ignores it.

“G’night, Bill,” Mike replies. Stan waves at him. The smile Bill gives him brings joy to Mike’s heart. He’s glad to know he isn’t the only one to look at Stan that way.

Stan walks him to the door, closing it behind him. Mike steps down from the doorstep and turns to look at him.

“So…”

“I have a question.”

“I have an answer.”

Mike smiles a little. “Why me?” Stan tilts his head and furrows his brows. “You have three other people waiting for you in there, waiting for you everyday. Three people who obviously love you, so I want to know why me? Why pursue me?”

Stan looks at him, then snorts. He looks down and fiddles with his hands, stroking his fingers over the pale scars. “Because I like brilliant men. Because I like how much you overwhelm me. Because I love how much you give me what I need and not what I want.” He looks at Mike. “Mostly because you remind me that I’m not as bad as I seem.” Stan shrugged.

Mike wants to tell him that they can give him that too if he just tells them, that he doesn’t need Mike to have that kind of happiness. Mike can be replaced. Instead, he says, “I’m in love with you.”

Stan looks… relieved. He smiles, the one with teeth and little crows feet at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah? That’s good.”

Mike doesn’t think Stan will say it back. He doesn’t need him to. He just needs Stan to know he isn’t going anywhere, he isn’t going to just up and jump and leave. “One down, three more to go, I guess.”

Mike can feel his heart crash into his chest. Stan steps down and cups his face in his hands. Mike could cry for the both of them. He knows it takes forever to make Stan cry. He sets his hands on top of his.

“Are you saying you love me?”

Stan nods. When he kisses Mike, it feels different. Like his body is washed with warmth and his heart is beating erratically. His toes curl in their shoes and he sighs into it. Stan kisses him with a gentleness he’s rarely felt, soft and inviting.

Mike leaves Stan with a kiss to both his hands. His eyes bore into him with intensity. When Mike lays down in his bed that night, all he can think about is the one thing Stan told him.

_ One down. Three to go _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So quick thing, the food Mike and Stan make is an actual dish! I’ve eaten it and it’s my favorite thing ever 10/10
> 
> Secondly, my next fic is completely Eddie based and very heavy in terms of abuse. I’m going based off the book since the movies watered in down, but I’m also amping it up for my own satisfaction.
> 
> Lastly, you can always come bother me on tumblr @ literatureandshit if you have anything you wanna ask. Stay safe, don’t go outside, and try to make the most of this quarentine, loves


	5. I Feel Like I’m Drowning — Two Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mother always made him take these little pills that made him drowsy and compliant. To this day he isn’t sure what she pumped him with, but whatever it was had made Eddie feel so numb. There was a day when Eddie had forgotten to take the pills… until he didn’t forget. She noticed immediately, but hadn’t said anything until around lunchtime. She was making tuna sandwiches. Eddie hated tuna sandwiches.
> 
> She dropped the plate in front of him and took his small hand in hers.
> 
> “Did you take your medicine, Eddie Bear,” she asked. Her eyes were sweet and intimidating. Eddie hadn’t wanted to lie.
> 
> “I… forgot. I’m sorry, Mama.”
> 
> “It’s okay. Mama will just have to punish you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ITS ME
> 
> So first of all fuck Sonia. That’s it that’s all I have to say about that.
> 
> Also extremely important TW⚠️ This deals with some p heavy shit regarding Eddie. I ramped this up bc Sonia in the book was fuckin batshit crazy and it makes me so angry⚠️
> 
> ⚠️Although Sonia is her own warning, I’d like to also add a warning for when she shoves her child into a closet with roadkill and locks him in there for five hours. After that it gets nicer so I totally understand if you wanna skip it⚠️
> 
> Feedback for representing trauma is always good bc hell I cant even overcome my own trauma and I’ve been traumatized since I was like 5 LMAO
> 
> I’ll definitely come out with something less heavy after this bc I like fluffy stuff and I also like smut and y’all are here to be horny on main not cry... I think
> 
> Anyways I talk too much I’m sorry just need the warnings okay :)

His lungs burned, but not in a bad way. They inflated and deflated with the steady breath of air. His arms and legs pumped at a rhythmic pace, feet slapping the concrete ground. He’d been running for almost half an hour now, building up a sweat and flush across his face.

Once Eddie reached his usual mark, he turned and jogged back to the house. The moment he reached the door, he unlocked it and quietly slipped inside. The rest of them would most likely still be sleeping or getting ready for class.

Then he heard it.

Her voice.

Her loud, booming, delusional voice.

Eddie felt his heart drop to his feet. His breath quickened with anxiety. Not her. Anyone but her.

She must have heard him because it was suddenly silent. Eddie didn’t want to walk into the living room. She would be sitting there, big and horrible, waiting to see him again. There’s just no way, no way she was here.

“Eddie Bear,” she called. God, Eddie had always hated that fucking nickname. She sounded so smug, so condescending.

Eddie slipped off his shoes slowly. If he moved too fast his fight or flight response would kick in, and he’d bolt right back out the door. His legs were bare, exposing skin and the many tattoos he got himself over the years. The first one liberated him from her hold and whenever he felt the need to feel more free, he got more. His arms, his legs, his back. No part of Eddie wasn’t covered in at least one piece of inked art.

He attempted a comforting breath. The fact that he hasn’t come out yet and no one has come to get shows they know he’s freaking out. God, how Eddie loved them.

Eddie stood up straight and filled his lungs with much needed air. It felt like they were withering away. There was a rushing noise in his ears as he took step after step to present himself.

Sonia Kaspbrak looked so out of place in their living room. She took up so much space, although she looked like she’d lost weight, but not by much. She was wearing an ugly floral dress and the big hat she always wore was sitting on the coffee table.

Bill looked scared. Richie and Stan looked angry, and Eddie can guess Bill’s fear is the effect of that. And Mike, the sweetest of the five of them, looked uncomfortable. His mother must have said something damning to get Mike uncomfortable.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to say anything. There wasn’t much to say. His mother found him after four years when he’d up and disappeared from Derry, Maine. How did she find him? No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is when she’s going to leave, and if she’s going to force Eddie to leave with her.

“Edward, what in God’s name are you wearing, boy?!”

He flinched.

She frowned. “Don’t you flinch from me, I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” Sonia said firmly. “Now what were you doin’ outside so late?”

“It’s… eight in the morning, Mama.”  _ Mama _ . She always made him call her that. When he didn’t, she used to snatch him up off the floor by his ear, grab his arm, and give him a good shake. Then she’d drop him to the floor and make him try again. “I was out running.”

Sonia narrowed her eyes at him and looked him up and down. Her face went from angry to pissed and horrified. She looked like she was going to start screaming at him, slapping his face and his arms and legs like she used to. His mom always made him wear shorts that went down to the knees and shirts that stopped at least at the elbow, even in the summer. Eddie was wearing red shorts that stopped at his midthigh and one of Richie’s loose sleeveless shirts with some random rock band on it. Sonia didn’t like rock bands. To her, Eddie looked like Satan’s reincarnate here to damn her to Hell.

She opened her mouth when Bill quickly interrupted.

“Ed, why d-don’t you get cl-cleaned up,” he suggested with a small smile. Eddie looked at him like a deer in headlights before hastily walking into Richie’s and his shared room to change. He’ll shower later when she’s not here. Eddie doesn’t want to leave them alone with her for too long. Only Eddie knows the extent of Sonia’s manipulations.

He dresses himself in a T-shirt and basketball shorts. It’s the best he can do since he threw out everything that reminded him of her. Plus, the weather was still hot and Eddie wasn’t going to risk heat stroke because he feels like he should continue to please her.

When he comes back out, Richie and Bill are in the kitchen making coffee in utter and complete silence. Stan and Mike have retreated to the love seat. Stan is sitting on an armrest with a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder while Mike looks increasingly upset.

Eddie takes a seat by his mother and positions himself so that Sonia has to turn to him instead of giving his boyfriends disgusted looks. She turned (with tremendous efforts) and her face made Eddie shrink in on himself. She knew what she was doing, and she was making an attempt to humiliate him.

The hug she gave him was suffocating, by her horrible perfume and her thick arms. When she pulled back she smiled sweetly.

“You know you shouldn’t be runnin’, Eddie Bear. You got a hole in your lung, ’member? And you got terrible asthma. Awful asthma that could kill you.”

Eddie pulled further away from her and looked over her shoulder, specifically at the doorway to his room. He needed himself to stay grounded and calm or else he’d spiral and find himself back in Maine. “I don’t have a hole in my lung, Mama. And I don’t have asthma, either.”

When he spared a glance at her, Sonia’s face looked blanched. She must be realizing Eddie is no longer under her control. Before Eddie started his freshman year of college, he went to the doctor for a much needed check up. Not only did Eddie have no deathly allergies, he had no hole in his lungs, no asthma, or brittle bones and whatever else his mother had insisted that’s what the doctor told her. Eddie wasn’t dying of cancer and he didn’t need medication for anything. In fact, his doctor said what he needed was to go outside more. And Eddie made sure he went outside for at least an hour at least once a day.

Sonia put a hand on his knee, made it look like she was a loving mother, and squeezed it so hard Eddie felt his foot tingle. Tears stung at his eyes from the pain. Eddie fought off the urge to put his mind in another place to get through this. There’s no way he couldn’t confront this, confront her. His therapist was either going to either love this or hate this, but Eddie wasn’t going to let his mother out of this without speaking his mind.

She eased up on his knee right when Richie and Bill returned from the kitchen. They handed out steaming cups of coffee to each person. When Richie handed one to Eddie, he hesitates, but takes it. Bill hands Sonia a cup of tea and sits on a couch. Richie stands behind him. He must be getting antsy.

Sonia keeps her eyes on him, even as Eddie takes a sip from his coffee. Her eyes are unsettling. They’re bright with malous and beady like a mouse. Eddie has been tricked by those eyes on numerous occasions. He used to think all people were supposed to look at the people they loved with those eyes. Obsessed, hysterical, delusional. Those eyes weren’t love.

Sonia sits her cup on the table. Her hat takes up most of it, but she finds a spot and quickly turns back to her son. She can’t say what she wants to while the rest are here, but she knows Eddie will read between the lines. The coffee soothes his nerves and brings a warm feeling through his chest. It was more cream and sugar than coffee, but that’s just how Eddie liked it.

“How have you been?” She smiles at him again, but doesn’t touch him. Eddie wants to rub his knee.

“Good.” Too clipped. She narrows her eyes. Eddie tried again. “I’m good, Mama. I got a job as a nurse at a hospital—”

His mother's face blazes with disapproval. “Hospital? That’s dangerous, Edward. You’re immune system—”

“My immune system is fine.” His voice sounded too big for his body. He sounded angry and frustrated. Eddie didn’t want to be groomed by her again, he didn’t want to become the puppet she made him out to be. Moreover, Sonia Kaspbrak wasn’t going to insult his intelligence or his job.

Everyone was a silent force behind him. Without them, Eddie wouldn’t have the strength to stand up to her like he is right now. She just drains him of everything he’s got and milks him until he’s nothing but dust.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Before Eddie can answer, she continues. “I know a lovely girl back home. Her name’s Myra. She’s a doll, Eddie Bear. The sweetest. You should meet her sometime.”

Eddie clenches his mug. It was cooler now. He looked over at Stan and Mike. They were frowning deeply. Eddie hated that when they looked upset.

Eddie took a deep breath through his nose and steadied his heart. He won’t break no matter how much she wants him to. He isn’t the fragile little boy she raised anymore. She can’t deprive him of food, of happiness, of love. That’s not her place. Eddie looked at Sonia and said, “I like boys, Mama.”

The look she gives him makes Eddie want to piss his fucking pants. She looks disgusted with him, horrified that her little baby boy would say that to her face in front of people. But it’s not like Sonia didn’t know this. From a young age Eddie knew he was gay, and he hated himself for it for a very long time. He used to get on his knees and pray that God took the feelings he had for the boy at church away from him. When he was fourteen he saw a man walking with his boyfriend on Main Street and his mother snatched his face away, but the glimpse he got was enough. It took sixteen years for Eddie to come to terms with himself, all while his mother threw more than one creative slur for people like her son.

With how big his mother is, he expects the strength from her. Sonia has always been too strong. But he doesn’t expect her to be fast, considering her size. She grapples his arm, snatching herself and him up. The grip is so intense it cuts off his blood flow and Eddie’s fingers tingle. Sonia drags them to the door and wrenches it open, dragging him into the morning light. He can hear the sound of four pairs of feet following them to the door.

Sonia turns to him, rage burning in her eyes. “How dare you,” she growls. “How dare you disrespect your mama.”

“You’re hurting me.” Eddie jerks his arm, but she squeezes it so hard it feels like his bones were shifting and he gets weak in the knees.

“How dare you _ lie  _ to me, Edward. Gay? You ain’t no damn fairy, do you hear me? You ain’t no faggot, Eddie.”

“Mama, stop,” Eddie strains. He makes another attempt to get away from her, but she’s got him in her grip so harshly he feels like he’s back in that old house in Derry again. It sends bile to Eddie’s throat and he thinks he might vomit.

“Have you lost your mind, boy? You with them in that  _ house _ ? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that Jew and that…” she stops as if ready to be sick. “negro are together.”

Then the grip on his arm is gone and she’s pulling Eddie into a bone crushing hug. She rubs her hand up and down his back, sending chills down his spine. Eddie thinks he’ll just puke all over her.

“I’m sorry, Eddie Bear. They’re a bad influence on you, that’s all. Why don’t you come back home with me so Mama can take care of you, hm?”

Eddie immediately pushes back and stumbles away from her. She stares at him like he’s got two heads.

He hears her say his name, that ugly nickname, but Eddie is too busy pushing past everyone to get into the house and heave last night’s dinner into the toilet.

+

Eddie doesn’t leave the house for almost a week. He’s up to his ears in anxiety and panic attacks. It feels like his head is being beaten with a metal bat. His heart is threatening to rip out of his chest. The amount of plates or cups he’s dropped and shattered in this past week alone has Eddie bed ridden until he can cope with the hurricane that is Sonia Kaspbrak.

They all take turns keeping him company throughout the week, bringing him homework, notes, and any other little updates around the campus Eddie found interesting.

He cried a lot. After Eddie emptied his stomach into the toilet he sobbed on the floor for what felt like hours. He can usually keep his wits about him, even when it’s about his mother, but seeing her, hearing her voice, and being touched by her sent Eddie down a path he never wanted to go down again. His therapist had told him to embrace those memories, come to terms with them, but God it was hard. Eddie couldn’t catch his breath for more than ten minutes without crying or wheezing or both.

At some point when the days started running together after a couple of days, Eddie stares blankly at the wall of Stan’s bedroom, thinking back to the days where he was a victim of his mother’s more twisted affections. 

When he was around five, Eddie noticed a closet that smelled really gross. He always held his breath when he walked past it. Sonia always told him that as long as Eddie did nothing bad, he’d never find out what’s in it. And Eddie never wanted to find out what was in it.

His mother always made him take these little pills that made him drowsy and compliant. To this day he isn’t sure what she pumped him with, but whatever it was had made Eddie feel so numb. There was a day when Eddie had forgotten to take the pills… until he didn’t forget. She noticed immediately, but hadn’t said anything until around lunchtime. She was making tuna sandwiches. Eddie hated tuna sandwiches.

She dropped the plate in front of him and took his small hand in hers.

“Did you take your medicine, Eddie Bear,” she asked. Her eyes were sweet and intimidating. Eddie hadn’t wanted to lie.

“I… forgot. I’m sorry, Mama.”

“It’s okay. Mama will just have to punish you.”

Eddie didn’t know what that meant. He thought she would smack his hands a bit, maybe not let him have dinner. Sonia gripped his little hand and dragged him to the closet. It smelled like something had died in there. She opened the door slowly and that’s when five year old saw it clear as day.

Sonia Kaspbrak had collected roadkill and stuffed them into the closet. Maggots crawled over them, ready to turn into flies. The closet was deliberately closed from the rest of the house and was hotter than the other rooms. The smell made Eddie retch and dry heave, he tiny little body hunching in on itself.

“Get in.” And when Eddie didn’t, she repeated herself more firmly. “Get in.”

“Mama, I don’t to—”

“ _ Get in the fucking closet, Edward _ .”

Eddie, small, innocent, and fearful, pissed himself and cried. His mother threw him in the closet so hard he landed on his hands and knees on the wooden floor. His face landed near a mangled possum. He screamed, but Sonia had just closed the door, shoved a chair under the knob and let Eddie lose his mind for five hours.

He had begged her to let him out.

But she insisted Eddie needed to be punished.

+

The first time Eddie got out of bed to officially pull himself together was on a Monday. A weird and boring day to get himself together, but he took a shower and put on actual clothes to go outside.

The rest of his boyfriends refused to do anything without him, except Mike who couldn’t pass on his football practices especially since they have a game coming up.

Mike was gone when Eddie went to the living room, but the rest were there. Stan, Bill, and Richie were all on the couch and floor, watching some show on Netflix. It was just The Office, but they liked The Office and Eddie wanted to watch it with them.

He got to the entryway and cleared his throat and three heads spun to look at him. Bill and Richie looked so relieved to see him upright. Stan, on the other hand, looked like he might actually cry. And it takes a lot to make him cry.

“You’re up,” Bill says.

Stan takes in his outfit. “Where are you going?”

Eddie shrugs. “I was gonna ask if you guys wanted to get food with me? The air is stale in Stan’s room and I’m craving something greasy.”

They’re silent for a while when Richie pipes up. “Oh, fuck yeah. Clog my arteries, papí.”

+

Eddie smiles and laughs for the first time in a week, swapping burgers with everyone at the booth of the cheap burger place by the campus. He drinks strawberry lemonade and eats fries sprinkled with seasoned salt.

Mike joins them a little while later and kisses the top of Eddie’s forehead, ruffling his hair. All five of them together like this, Eddie forgets about his mother and his life before them.

There was a time when Eddie loved his mother. He thought she was the only person in the world that mattered. He wore sailor suits and soaked himself in sunscreen because he wanted to make her happy. He sucked up the placebos she shoved down his throat. All because that’s what would make her happy and that made him happy.

Until he wasn’t. Mr Keene, as creepy as he was, told Eddie the truth. And the truth was Eddie wasn’t sick and everything she’d told him was a lie. Sometimes Eddie still thought he was sick. And then Bill would be making dinner or eating a snack and he’d let Eddie eat some just to reassure Eddie that he wasn’t sick and his mother couldn’t tell him any different.

After they’ve stuffed their stomachs full of fat and potential heart failure, they take a walk. Richie has his arm slung over Eddie’s shoulders, tucking him into his side. Eddie wraps his arms around him lovingly. Mike and Bill sandwich Stan between them and Stan won’t admit how much he enjoys it.

There’s an expanse of grass that Richie insists they all collapse on because he needs to rest and sitting on a bench is too good for him. So they pile on one another in a way that doesn’t suffocate one or the other. Eddie lets his thoughts stray to his mom one more time just to get his head on straight.

“We didn’t help.”

Eddie stares up at the starless sky whe Richie confesses this.

“We just stood by, and we didn’t help.”

And that’s true. But, Eddie wasn’t angry at them for this. There is no one in this world who can fight Sonia except for him.

He shook his head. “My mom is… frightening. She did bad things to me for a very long time. I mean, she used to pump me with vitamins and drugs that had me so fucked up I wouldn’t stand upright or stay lucid for more than three hours. Sometimes she wouldn’t feed me for a couple days, and when she did it was something small. I was never allowed to play with the kids in gym, I couldn’t spend the night at a friend’s house.” Eddie laughs like it’s funny, yet it’s hollow and wet. “I mean,  _ fuck _ , she used to lock me in our broom closet with dead animals when I did something bad.”

He hears someone suck in a sharp breath of air.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Mike whispers.

Ed—”

“I thought she loved me,” Eddie interrupts.

“That’s not l-love, Ed.” Bill reaches down and smooths his hair back. His hands are big and warm like his mother’s, but gentle and comforting. Bill’s hands were made to spite Sonia Kaspbrak.

“No, it’s abuse. Physical, mental, emotional abuse.”

And they left it at that.

+

Sonia comes to the house, but no one answers. She yells, she screams, and manipulates, but no one comes to the door. They just turn up the TV louder and lock down the house to pretend she isn’t there.

She goes home after a week and a half. Eddie can feel it in his bones when she does. It feels like a weight was off his shoulders. There was a bounce in his step now when he walked to class. He had a breakthrough with his therapist and one of the kids at the hospital was recovering fast. It’s like the moment his mother left, Eddie could feel his life picking back up again.

He sat on the couch doing his weekly study session with Stan. He wasn’t wearing his own clothes (because when has he ever) and was scribbling down work for math equations. Eddie watched him quietly. Stan looked up and smiled softly. He felt his heart clench.

Then there were hands and mouth, too many hands and mouths if he’s being honest, touching his face and rubbing his hair and kissing his face. Stan became a victim of them too, but wasn’t opposed to having his face kissed all over.

“H-how’s the studying c-coming,” Bill asks. He sits on the opposite side of the couch. Mike fits himself neatly into his side. Bill smiles at him. “Hi, Mikey.”

Mike looks up at him like he’s hung the moon. “Hi, Bill.”

Richie collapses on the loveseat, loud and uncoordinated. Eddie lets himself get a good look at them all. He watches Bill and Mike make heart eyes at each other while Richie and Stan bicker over English Literature. They fell in love fast, all five of them, but some faster than others. Bill and Mike were the sweetest when they were together. They never argued and never got angry with each other. With just a glance they knew what the other was saying. And they smiled at each other a lot. 

Richie and Stan’s relationship felt like it was old as time. They argued like an elderly couple, but it was always over something stupid like if Hanukkah really needed eight days and Hamlet. They seemed like polar opposites; Richie the giant comedian who dressed like a hobo and Stan the twink who always dressed like he was ready for a business meeting.

Eddie loved them.

It was obsessive.

It wasn’t isolation.

It was love in its best form.

It was healthy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh I hate writing angst my heart can never handle that kind of shit man, but I still shove those It fics and Naruto fics down my throat
> 
> What would you guys like to see more of? Fluff or smut... I have ideas for both so 😔 if you could just slide suggestions my way that’d be nice
> 
> OH AND SONG SUGGESTIONS HELP ME TOO. My playlist can only do so much you guys give me your faves so I can write fics using their music


	6. Tiny Love- Mika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill likes to show his lovers his affections in their own ways. They don’t react to things the same way, but Bill has found he has universally approved affections they all enjoy. They all like something different from him and Bill loves knowing he can give that to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet and just... fluffy. It’s soft in this fic. And nice. A vibe, you might say. Bill Denbrough is just 🥺 Yknow what I’m sayin? He’s just so ✨💗💫 ! There’s no dialogue it’s just a quick character study of his relationship with the others through his eyes and I never write character studies but y’all don’t care I’m just runnin my mouth at this point LMAOOOO

Bill likes to think he isn’t the biggest person in his relationship. Sure he’s got broad shoulders and long legs, but he isn’t big. He’s got a soft voice and a sweet personality. Bill can seem almost docile at times. Nothing makes him angry and he’s been described as “boyish” and “naïve” all his life. His clothes are boring and the same thing on different days: white shirt, plaid jacket and blue jeans. They force him to change it up, but plaid patterns are engraved in Bill’s brain.

But Richie? He’s large in every sense of the word. He’s got a large chest and back. He packs on muscle and general weight in all the best areas, making his thighs and arms thick. The rest of them weigh almost nothing when Richie picks them up. His personality is outgoing and leaves him surrounded with people although they aren’t always the best. Even Richie’s clothes are larger than life. He’ll wear anything he’s comfortable in. Sometimes it’s bold colors like yellow and pink and then it’s dark colors like black and red. He’s the life of the party.

Mike reminds Bill of himself. He’s got the large physical build of an adult and a personality of an innocent boy. Mike is alluring and seductive without really trying. He does little things like smile warmly and wink at you that makes the rest of them weak in the knees. Dating a star football player comes with many perks and stealing his clothes (which just so happen to fit Bill perfectly. Coincidence? He thinks not) to being able to sink all of his weight into him are just some of them.

Bill likes to think although his body is big, it’s nothing compared to his love for the others. It has to be bigger than the Earth, maybe the universe. Bill just has so much love to give and he has people to give it to, so why hold back? He loves loving people and he always makes sure they know it.

Bill likes to show his lovers his affections in their own ways. They don’t react to things the same way, but Bill has found he has universally approved affections they all enjoy. They all like something different from him and Bill loves knowing he can give that to them.

For instance Stan likes to be caressed and feel the ghost of an innocent touch. He thrives off of the gentle, feather like touches Bill gives him. Whenever they talk, Bill will slide the tips of his fingers up the dip of his back or touch his hand with his thumb to show he’s paying attention to the conversation. Stan will arch into it, move a little closer and suddenly they’re already intimate conversation has turned into something more.

If they’re all together in public Bill would just press his thigh against Stan’s or set his hand on his knee, just something to ground him in crowded places. Bill knows it feels nice for him and he enjoys touching him like this, even if Stan gets a little carried away sometimes.

Usually Richie is the center of attention. He just has that way about him that makes everyone think “I have to be friends with this guy”. But Richie likes to feel small. Which is hard since he’s six foot two, but he somehow makes it work. Richie has hard days where talking to anyone who isn’t his lover is the last thing he wants to do. He’s an ambivert who runs out of steam after about three intense nights of networking. A quiet Richie is a Richie who wants to be loved and cuddled and spoken softly to.

There was a weekend where Richie was so drained of energy that all he did was shuffle around the house to spend time with them. Bill got to a stopping point in his work where anything he typed would be incoherent hot garbage, so he and Richie spent the day relaxing and recharging their energy together. They did face masks and watched Queer Eye. Richie was still tired so Bill lightly kissed his forehead and pet his head, scratching his nails along his scalp and tugging on the strands. They fell into a place between awake and asleep with Bill on his back and Richie on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his neck.

Eddie is a little different. He doesn’t require the amount of reassurance Stan needs or the attention Richie craves. Eddie just likes doing things with Bill. He’s the only other one who has his head on straight enough to say something remotely intelligent, so they’re always doing the more domestic errands. Eddie is the type of person to enjoy being around his lovers and it shines through whenever he’s with Bill. They’ll pick up to go food together, grocery shop together, and anything else that can’t be done by the others. He’ll even barge into Bill’s room just to curl up on the bed and read while he works.

That being said, there are times where Bill feels like he neglects Eddie. He doesn’t require the same needs as the others, so he feels like he’s overlooked. Which is a shame because Eddie is a beautiful man and Bill has a soft spot for him, perhaps too soft because once he has his attention on him he won’t stop for hours. He’ll cling to Eddie like a koala for no reason, kissing the crown of his head and his cheeks until Eddie is trying to push him off.

Mike is like Bill. He likes doing the things normal couples do. They hold hands a lot and swipe their thumbs over each other’s knuckles. Mike likes laughing. He’s always laughing at something. Richie is constantly making him laugh and they all just watch, enamored, with the way Mike’s mouth spreads into a smile as he throws his head back and laughs. His nose scrunches up when he laughs softly and Bill just thinks it’s the most handsome thing he’s ever seen. He likes watching Mike relax into the couch, you know when he’d lean back comfortably and throw his arms over the back and spread his legs so that his arms and legs are on display. Bill keeps his vulgarities to himself most of the time, but Mike seems to bring out the worst in him.

Bill likes kissing Mike and vise versa. They always kiss way too much for Stan’s liking. They do it over little things or just the feeling of wanting to. Mike has soft lips and hands. He enjoys kissing mouths and noses and palms. Bill particularly likes it when Mike presses his lips to his hands before placing them on his own mouth. Mike always makes sure Bill feels the same amount of love he gives to them.

They’re sitting at home eating dinner. Classes have been forgotten about and they’re all in their pajamas. They’re talking to each other through mouthfuls of pasta and Hawaiian rolls, laughing and pretending they didn’t miss each other all day. Richie is talking about something absolutely buck wild, waving his hands around and making the rest of them choke on their drinks. Bill watches them with a small smile, food half eaten. Eddie is smiling so hard he has to keep touching his face and Stan hasn’t stopped grinning since Richie started talking.

Bill still doesn’t think he’s the biggest in his relationship. The world seems so big, but here in this house while he lives with these four other people, there’s nothing better out there for him than what he has under this roof. To be honest, Bill will admit he feels kind of small compared to how big his love is for them. And he thinks that’s pretty fair to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’d like to thank Jackson for suggesting this song! I just love listening to it. It’s so simple and yet so sweet and I hope this fic reflected the song the way I wanted, although I doubt it bleh  
> I love music but my playlist can only do so much so I’m always open to suggestions. You can always bother me on tumblr @literatureandshit

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it down here, what’s up how are you feeling tell me how long this took you to read
> 
> There are gonna be more chapters to this and only a few huge major stories like this one (I’m already setting up the plot for Stan/Mike). I just hope I don’t turn into one of those accounts that have like a billion words and 300+ chapters that’s doin too much yall. I’ll be posting pointless drabbles and being horny on your main in the meantime.
> 
> Comment, like, subscribe >:) feed my addiction and come harass me on tumblr if you have any requests @literatureandshit
> 
> Quick edit: whenever I add a chapter I’ll just say it’s completed bc it makes me feel better than having y’all wait so long 🥴✌🏾 Stanlon is definitely going to be a minute


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